Make it Last Forever
by The Lonesome Rose
Summary: They're a pair of master assassins and the best at what they do. This is what they do when they're not saving the world. A series of moments in the lives of Clint Barton and June Monroe in no particular order. ** a companion collection to Prove Them Wrong**
1. Prank War

**9:00 AM Breakroom**

Never in a thousand years would June have imagined an organization like SHIELD to be both rigid in rules but lax in protocols. Although, she assumed by now that an agent like the infamous Hawkeye had gone through the entire manual and worked out the loopholes in his first afternoon of employment. At any rate, there seemed be no one controlling the agent, save perhaps his own handler and the occasional correction from the director.

She considered this as she sat across from him in the breakroom, nursing a cup of coffee and half listening as he went on about some SHIELD injustice or other that he didn't think should apply to him.

"…come into SHIELD and can barely tie their own shoes. Are we running an agency or a daycare? And another thing…"

"So your idea is to keep them in line by throwing pranks at them?" She'd noticed the first day. Jelly doughnuts filled with glue, fake bugs in the lockers, air horns strategically set up to go off in meeting rooms. Her favorite had been the decaf and caffeinated coffee carafes switched—it had had the best response. Agents normally sedated had been jumping off the walls and the energetic ones had lagged around like sloths. Clint had somehow played the innocent bystander card with the full responsibility falling on a tech assistant. He had yet to stop slipping death notes in Clint's inbox.

"Pranking is the most effective form of workplace tension ease. Besides…" he broke a crème-filled doughnut in half and sniffed it before shoving half in his mouth. "…no one pranks like me."

June calmly sipped the rest of her coffee, then snapped forward like a viper and stole the second half of his doughnut. She sat back, chewing it smugly and licking her fingers while Clint glared. "I think you could be challenged on that title."

"By _you_?" He made a point in looking her over slowly as though running her through an inner potential scanner. "You might be a sneak, but you hardly have the creative inspiration needed for this venue of work."

"Venue of work!" She laughed. "You take this too seriously. A prank is a prank. And based on your track record, you're about to be caught. Everyone knows there's a breadcrumb trail and it leads straight back to…" she trailed off purposely, silently pointing at him to emphasize the last word.

"You think you can handle it?"

"You think _you_ can handle the competition?" She looked him straight-on, unblinking. "I might just take that title from you and rub your nose in my elaborate pranks." As he deliberated, she came up behind him to slip her arms around his neck. "Is that proud hawk that scared of getting his feathers ruffled by another bird?"

"Like a lion is scared of a parakeet." He leaned back, pulling her down for a slow kiss. "You're on, Agent Monroe."

"Mmmhm… better watch your back, Agent Barton. This is war." They sealed it with another kiss.

The director walked in, selected a chocolate doughnut, and then threw them a rebuking one-eyed glare. "Control yourselves, agents."

 **9:45 AM June's Office**

June had only left her coat-closet office long enough to deliver a handful of mission reports and scan a few documents. In that time, Clint had apparently shoved aside his own work on favor of blowing up a hundred balloons and taping them to completely cover her desk. If that wasn't irritating enough, her walls had been slathered with the ugliest shade of orange known to mankind. She surveyed it all, hands on her hips, before she marched right around and down to tech and development.

 **10:00 AM Clint's Office**

Clint shoved aside the top file and pulled out the one beneath it. Flipping through this one, he made a face and replaced it back in the pile. "Stupid mission reports," he muttered. He twirled a pen around in his fingers and glanced at the clock, wondering whether it was too early to slip his files onto Coulson's desk. As soon as the phone rang, he snapped it up.

"Department of Humor and Mayhem. This is…"

"BARTON. QUIT SMELLING THE FLOWERS AND GET YOUR ARSE IN MY OFFICE."

Clint yanked the phone a foot from his ear. "And a cheery morning to you too, sir. How can our labor monkeys assist you today?"

"GET IN MY OFFICE NOW OR YOU'LL BE BEGGING ON THE STREETS."

"Right away." He replaced the phone. "Dictator Fury." Snatching up the files the director was probably going to rant about, Clint strolled down the hall only pausing to misdirect two lost agents. By the time he reached the director's office, he paused to compose himself before walking in. "So I finished Mumbai, Berlin and Prague but I have to thoroughly debrief Agent Monroe about the events of Milan. Preferably with a jacuzzi and a bottle of strawberry vodka."

The director threw him a glare. "I told you you're not getting a raise. Now get out of my office and sit down at your desk like everyone else."

Clint blinked. "That's why you called me down here, wasn't it? To go over the details of the missions?"

"I didn't call you down." He stabbed a finger towards the door. "Get moving or I'll deduct from your paycheck again."

He didn't have to be told twice.

When Clint got back, it was just in time to pick up the ringing phone. "The Depths of Chaos and Despair. Chaos speaking."

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STOP FOOLING AROUND AND GET IN MY OFFICE."

"I was just there, sir. You kicked me out." Clint strained to hold the phone away from his ear as far as he could. Even the director's breathing was like a hurricane.

"I WON'T SAY IT AGAIN." The phone slammed down before Clint could give another response.

"Unbelievable." This time, Clint took all the files on his desk. One of them had to please Sir Sourpuss. But again, as soon as he stepped through the door, the director gave him a look that spelled the wraith of the titans.

"Barton, if you can't sit down for five minutes, I'll send you back to rookie training!"

"You called me twice to come down here," Clint said flatly. "You know what… take them all, take everything!" He dumped the files on the free patch of desk and marched out before the director could yell at him again.

By the time he got back to his office, Clint snatched up the phone before it could ring again and dialed the extension to R&D. "Hey, you guys missing a voice changer? Yeah, I thought so."

 **10:35 AM Women's Lockers**

"It's standard newbie protocol. You help me show the rookies which end of the gun to fire and stitch them up when they shoot each other." Natasha zipped up her catsuit, then turned to check her hair in the mirror. "At the one hour mark, you get relieved by another newbie."

"Simple enough." June turned to her locker, purposely waiting for Natasha to leave before she changed.

Natasha laughed at her. "You're as uptight as a district judge. What are you going to do when you start going on seduction missions?" She applied a liberal amount of cranberry red lipstick before blotting it into a tissue and throwing another smirk at June as she left the lockers.

June reached for her uniform, finding it thinner than she remembered. Unfolding it, she found one of Natasha's "mission" dresses that left little to the imagination.

"You've crossed the line, Clinton Francis," she muttered, stuffing the dress in Natasha's locker and fearlessly going down the hall to the men's lockers where she swiped Clint's spare suit. It would do.

 **11:45 AM Coulson's Office**

"I need a mission, Phil."

"You just had a mission."

"I need another one. I also need a secretary to do the paperwork while I'm gone so all I have to do is add a few signatures."

"You most certainly do not need a secretary. What you need to do is your job." Coulson poked the whining agent in the leg with his pen. "The director will think I'm coddling you and then he'll take away _both_ our jobs."

Clint shifted his position on the desk. "Hey, I'll take your job if there's an opening."

"Leaving me to take yours, I'd imagine." Coulson permitted a brief chuckle. "If you haven't debriefed June on her latest mission yet, that's your top priority."

"Yeah…" Clint drew out the word. "See the thing is June and I are having a bit of a war and the last thing I need is for her to…" he trailed off. "She hasn't left any weird packages around here yet, has she?"

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Am I being drawn into your skirmishes now?"

Clint raised his hands in submission. "I'm just warning you… if any weird packages show up at your door, get rid of them."

"Duly noted. Now get off my desk or I'll make you polish it again."

 **12:00 Mess Hall**

June smirked into her salad when Clint made a beeline for her. He looked her over twice and tugged on the baggy suit.

"What's this? Stealing my shirts wasn't enough and now you're stealing my uniform too?"

"I like it," she protested. "It smells like you. I needed all the assurance I could get working with those new recruits." She raised another forkful of greens to her mouth and waited for the bomb to drop.

"A voice changer? Really? How juvenile can you get?"

"This coming from the man who finds it funny to swipe my suit and expect me to prance outside in lingerie. I expected more sophistication from the master prankster."

Clint scowled. "The expert doesn't make every prank his best." He swiped the fork from June and took the mouthful. "Coulson wants me to debrief you on Milan so I can get the file written up by tonight. I propose we come to a truce so we can actually get some work done."

"You mean so _you_ can get something done. I got quite a lot done, thank you very much." She snatched her fork back, but smiled when she speared the greens and deposited them into his mouth. "By the end of today, my picture will be on the wall for most accomplished employee. By the end of the week, I'll have that raise you've been whining to the director for."

"I don't whine."

"Yes" she leaned forward to kiss his nose. "You do."

He leaned into her, resting his cheek against hers. "So about the debrief…"

"I have a space in my calendar around two. This really handsome agent invited me to hang out in the lounge and I think I'll be working from there for a while."

"Oh yeah?" he grinned. "What were you and this agent planning to do by yourselves in there? Nothing… against protocol, I hope."

"He explicitly stated he was looking forward to breaking as many rules as possible." June turned to throw her partner a sly smile. "And between the two of us, I'm holding him to that promise."

"Sounds like some agent. Maybe you should introduce me sometime." Clint matched her grin. "I hope a troublemaker like him knows how to evade detection."

June laughed. "He seems to be doing just fine so far." She gathered the remains of her lunch and tossed them in the closest bin. "Careful, Hawk, you may actually have a bit of competition." She breezed past a table full of junior agents who watched her in fascination before glancing at Clint to catch his response. At its best days, SHIELD was as engaging as a soap opera, or a highschool lunchroom. Those were the days when the director ate lunch in his office. When he was out among the agents, silence reigned supreme.

Clint shook his head at her back, still grinning. "I married the best agent in the entire world."

 **1:00 PM Lounge**

Natasha sauntered into the lounge, picking up a discarded blazer and setting it on a chair next to the couch where two agents were currently either pretending she didn't exist, or were completely oblivious to her presence. "You two have about thirty seconds to pull it together before the director chews you out."

"Get lost, Nat," Clint muttered around June's skin. "I'm patching her up."

"Took a knife to the stomach. Agent Barton's helping me recover." June said, breathless. She gasped involuntarily when he found a sweet spot just below her chin.

Natasha's eyes fell to the fresh bandage on June's lower stomach. "I'm sure Agent Barton's skills at rehabilitating his partners are legendary. You'll still get an earful."

As soon as Natasha had left, June's hands flew to button her shirt. "I think I'm quite recovered now."

"Nah, you still look a little pale. What's the dictator going to do?" he guided June back to lay on the couch, hands fumbling to yank off her shirt completely. "Court martial a sick agent? Besides…" he held up a finger, warning her to stay as she was as he searched the cabinets against the wall. "…it's about time we pulled one over on Fury."

A smile passed across June's lips when Clint came back to her side with a set of acrylic paints and brush. "Tell me more."

The director was sick of agents coming to him and whining about their problems so when he got to the lounge, he was hoping for fifteen minutes of peace. Instead he came across Agent Barton performing a frantic CPR on a blood-spattered Agent Monroe. There was a large bloodstain clotting the hair at her left temple, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth and an even more worrisome amount of blood trickling down her low abdomen and pooling on the floor beneath her. In short, he was speechless.

"Sir, I-I just found her like this a few minutes ago. Call medical. Call medical—she's bleeding out and not breathing!"

"Keep her stable." The director ran for the nearest phone in the hall and dialed medical, giving a brief description of what he'd seen and telling them to get a move on it.

But by the time he escorted the medics into the room, there was no sign of either agent. There wasn't so much as a drop of blood on the floor.

One of the medics gave the director a troubled look. "When's the last time you've slept?"

 **1:45 PM Main Garage**

Just before their meeting, Clint realized he'd left the recording device and a bottle of cherry vodka in the trunk. June must've realized it sooner because he stopped, jaw dropping in terror when he laid eyes on his precious Porsche that had been mangled worse than a tin can in a vibranium shredder. The device and vodka were sitting on the caved-in roof tied with a bow and a lipstick-print calling card.

"JUNE ANA PETROVNA MONROE BARTON, YOU ARE A DEAD WOMAN!"

 **1:50 PM Woman's Room and Showers, Sub Level**

An excessively increasing itch had forced her to cut her meeting short with Coulson and now June locked herself in one of the stalls, tearing off her shirt to find a large red rash where Clint had applied the paint. "Essence of poison ivy?" She moaned in frustration when she felt the itch spreading to her thighs and other areas that would make for a very uncomfortable afternoon if she didn't deal with it now. Running for the closest shower, June tore off the rest of her clothes, leaving them in a heap as she darted below the ice-cold spray and sighed in relief as she began attacking the infected areas with a bar of soap.

"Bastard" she muttered, a hint of affection tainting her voice. "Hope you like your new car." Once she was lathered, rinsed and no longer itchy, June reached for a towel only to blink in surprise when she saw they'd all disappeared.

"Wonderful." She glanced between the rolls of toilet paper and her tainted clothes, before she sighed and grabbed her phone from her pocket. "Natasha? I need a favor."

"Barton caught you up in his web of pranks, didn't he?" But then Natasha didn't need an answer. The heap of clothes on the floor and June shivering and hugging herself in the shower was evidence enough. She tossed over the towel, which June caught gratefully and wrapped around herself before taking the change of clothes. "I would have warned you earlier about what he's capable of, but you seem to have found that out already."

"He should be more scared of what _I'm_ capable of."

"The more you throw at him, the further he'll back himself into a corner and get even more desperate."

June only laughed in response. A laugh that, to Natasha's ears, sounded oddly maniacal.

 **2:05 PM Clint's Office**

She was several minutes late, but not suspiciously so. He would later find out that her delay was necessary—later when she was far, far away from him. But for now, she came in with a smile to see the vodka already poured and a glass waiting for her.

"Bit of liquid courage to loosen your tongue, Agent Monroe?" Clint teased, handing her the glass.

She accepted it graciously, taking a seat in the middle of his desk. "You do know it's customary to finish the entire bottle in one sitting."

"Which is why you won't be drinking it alone." He produced his own glass, filling it to the brim and tapping it with hers before he took an uncustomly large swallow. "Now, to business." He sat across from her to sweep her legs into his lap. When he removed her shoes and began massaging her feet, June let out a luxurious moan.

"Vodka and a foot massage? You spoil me, agent."

"I'll use whatever methods it takes to get this intel from you." Leaning over he turned on the recorder and set it beside her on the desk. "Now, for the record, your name and designation."

"June Monroe Barton, field operative for SHIELD, level four. Happily married," she added the last as an afterthought, just before the recorder caught another moan from her. "They're going to think you either tortured me or did other unspeakable things to me to drag the intel from my weakened body."

"Let them wonder." He took another sip of vodka. "Now, your recent mission to Milan… can you give the details, Agent Monroe?"

"I had been tasked with assuming the identity of an American heiress and using my wealth and contacts to infiltrate a high society club suspected of being a HYDRA sympathizer. According to intel, this group was responsible for assembling HYDRA contacts, collecting weapons and serving as one of the enemy agencies intelligence stations." She leaned back, stretching her toes. "I became Lady Annie James. On the field, I had limited contact with SHIELD, but a few agents had already been established in the general area and were there as my backup. Unfortunately…" she met Clint's eyes with a pout "…my partner was not one of them."

"You poor thing." He kissed her toes, eliciting a sigh from her. "Now" his voice gained a few notes of mischief. "What happened on the op? I need as much detail as possible for this report."

"On the first night, I…. _Clint_ …" June broke off with a breathless gasp when he began to kiss the arch of her foot. " _Clint_ … the report…"

Clint smirked back at her. "I'm going to need more detail than that, agent." He slowly, agonizingly, began to massage his way up her calf, eliciting involuntary gasps and moans from June as his hands ran deep into her muscles.

She snatched her glass and downed the contents in a single swallow, fighting to regain her focus. "On the first night, I staked out the club from a distance, making sure I wasn't…" she broke off with another sharp gasp when he reached her knee and she fell back onto his desk with an audible thud. "Clint… Clint, please not now… not during the report."

"I need a little more focus from you, agent." Clint's hands mercifully stilled, although they moved suspiciously up to her waist. "You surveyed the targets. What next?"

"I compiled a profile and recorded their activities…" she trailed off in another breathy gasp when he reached underneath her to tickle the spot at the small of her back. " _A-agent Barton…_ " giving the report was all but impossible now as she fought the urge to start laughing, her breath coming out in gasps. At some point, the recorder had been pushed closer to her so each sound from her mouth would be even louder than it actually was.

After a few minutes, Clint ceased the torture, then, to her indignation, picked up the recorder. "After a sincere effort to pull the information from her, I've determined that Agent Monroe has been compromised and is unable to give a mission report at this time." He clicked the recording off and gave her another smirk. "And this goes straight to the director."

June sat up, eyes blazing. "You insufferable, incorrigible…" before she could make a grab for him, he darted out of her reach, slammed the door after himself and ran gleefully down the hall for the director's office.

She stayed where she was for a minute, sulking, before she straightened her clothes, slipped on her shoes and then stood on his desk to reach up and move aside one of the tiles to slip a present right near a heating vent. Fixing the tile, she hopped down and, with a stifled laugh, headed down the hall back to her office.

 **3:15 PM June's Office**

She was counting down the hours until the day ended and she could throttle Clint at home in peace, when the dreaded call came.

"Agent Monroe?" the director sounded wary, which was never good.

"Yes, sir?" she wound the cord around her wrist, tensing as she waited for the bomb to drop. "Is there anything wrong?"

"I listened to your debrief. I was going to send you home to recuperate, but it's about time you had another session with the psychiatrist. Your duties are suspended until he declares you fit for duty."

It took a very conscious effort to keep the fury out of her voice. "Yes, sir. I'll go there right away." She set the phone down, none too gently. "Clint Francis Barton, you are a dead man when I get my hands on you!"

 **3:30 PM Clint's Office**

Clint lay back in his chair, snickering as he imagined the look on her face when she got sent to the therapy session. "Just try to outdo that one, Monroe. Know what? You can't. You can't because I'm the _master_ of pranking." By the time she'd be let out of therapy, the day would be nearly over or she'd be sent home so he didn't have anything to worry about from her. Home would be another matter, but they had agreed on the prank war, hadn't they? A little thing like a mission debrief wouldn't get in his way of a spectacular prank.

Still basking in the glow of his own brilliance, Clint finally found the motivation to get something done. Maybe he'd get his picture on the wall before hers and then he'd really be able to show her who was the better agent.

He'd gotten enough on Milan to at least start on the file so he busied himself with typing up the details he remembered and sipping at the vodka while he worked. At the fifteen minute mark, he breaked for another glorious five minutes to reflect on his prank. He took a deep breath, gagging when a foul smell rose to his nose. It smelled like something had crawled into his office to die in agony after a short, sorry life.

It also smelled like revenge. June's revenge, to be exact.

He searched around for several minutes until he found it hidden in the ceiling, a rotting catfish so vile he didn't even want to touch it. The eyes were glazed, or molded over, and he could swear that something fuzzy had started to take up residence in its gills. It took all of his willpower not to retch then and there. Grabbing his computer and files, he ran for the door and didn't stop until he'd reached June's vacant office. She wouldn't need it any more today.

 **3:45 PM Psychiatrist Facilities, Main Level**

June barely managed to make it through the useless flashcards and word associations, fuming all the while. She was more than mentally sound—if anyone should be done here, it was Clint! Let him and his stupid urge to prank be trapped in here an hour staring at flashcards and being asked how each one made him feel.

"Agent Monroe, the director expressed concerns that your last field mission left mental damage." The shrink, Peters, flipped through her file as he spoke. "Your file says you sustained a concussion."

"A _mild_ concussion," she corrected. "It was hardly anything. I had it checked over when I returned and I didn't even have to stay overnight for observation." For good measure, she added, "there was nothing wrong with the mission. There's everything wrong with Agent Barton. The tape…"

"Yes… the tape…" Peters looked up over the file, eying her in that clinical way June hated. "The director had me listen to it. It sounded as though you were having an episode during the recollection of the events, or that you and Agent Barton were…" he paused, clearly uncomfortable. "That you were…you know."

A smile flickered across her face, but she dispelled it almost instantly. "That we were _what_?" she asked nonchalantly.

"He thought that you and Agent Barton were having relations," Peters said bluntly, his face turning a shade of pink. "Though we both found it odd that all the noises we coming from you."

June reddened. "We _weren't_. Agent Barton was purposely toying with me so I'd be called into question and ordered here. And, so you know, Agent Barton makes plenty of noises of his own when we make love."

"And why would he be doing that—toying with you?"

"Clint insisted he was the prankster of the century and I had to prove him wrong. We've been pranking each other all day, but this? _This_ was over the line."

Peters brightened, having found the object of her frustration. "And how long has this sexual and mental frustration with Agent Barton been bothering you?"

"Since this morning." June shifted her position, crossing one leg over the other and blowing out a soft sigh of frustration.

He made a note in her file. "And how has your relationship been so far?"

"He and I adore each other. We work well together on the field and we know each other's offs and ons."

"I see. And in that relationship, how would you rate the…"

June cut him off with a withering stare. "If you ask one more time about our intimate activities, I will ram that file down your throat. All you need to know is that it rocks." She glanced at the clock. "Are we almost done here? I have to go murder my husband."

 **4:00 PM June's Office**

He finished up what he could on the file then directed his attention to the room and how he could surprise June the next morning. But then he looked to the framed photos on her desk—one was them posing in front of the quinjet on their first mission. The other was one he'd somehow never noticed before, June had caught him framed against a sunset, staring off into the distance with a grin on his face. While the pranks had been fun, he knew there was no way he could top the last one without earning June's scorn. He thought of her trapped in therapy and did start to feel a little guilty.

Until he remembered what she'd done to his Porsche.

 **4:25 PM The Director's Office**

The prank earlier—of which he was positive it had been a prank—still bothered him. He'd put up with Barton's nonsense long enough without having to worry about _two_ of them. This would be a problem until he found a way to motivate them. The display in the breakroom had been nothing short of inexcusable. And the tape would give him nightmares for weeks.

With a grumble, he shifted the files around and around on his desk until he came across a small cubed box hidden beneath them. Intrigued, he pulled off the tape and had barely lifted the lid when dozens of cockroaches exploded out into his face.

"GET ME AGENTS BARTON AND MONROE RIGHT NOW!"

Five minutes later, a relieved June was pulled out of therapy and fixed a hard stare at Clint, who pretended not to notice as they both stood in the raging director's office.

"WHO PUT THE &%#$% ROACHES ON MY DESK?!"

June and Clint glanced at each other. Clint knew full well _he_ hadn't resorted to the bugs-in-the-box ploy and by the look on June's face, he knew she wouldn't waste her time collecting that many bugs just to misplace the box.

"It was that agent in tech who's been trying to frame Clint for the past two weeks," June said. "Why else would he hide it among the files Clint brought you?"

The director stared at them both, breathing hard through his nose like a bull about to charge. "I want both of you out of this building right now. These pranks have gone far enough."

Clint thought about the catfish rotting in his office and hoped he and June would be long, long gone before the director started smelling it.

He stabbed a finger towards the door. "If you don't start marching in two seconds, I will call a squad to escort you both out!"

Neither needed to be reminded twice and immediately took their leave.

"So how are you planning to replace my car?" Clint hissed as they headed for the door.

June laughed, producing the keys from her pocket. "I didn't touch your car. That one was just a decoy. Yours is on the garage level above." She leaned in close, but pulled back before he could kiss her. "I think we both know I proved I'm just as good a prankster as you."

Clint scoffed. "Okay, fine, you got me with the car and the voice changer… and the fish was gross."

"The balloons and dress were immature, but the stunt in the lounge was ingenious…" she made a face "…and the itching powder and removing the towels was thought-out. As for the last one…"

"Oh c'mon, you had to admit that was good. The tape _and_ the resulting psych session was like two pranks in one." He grinned coyly. "How'd that session go for you?"

June's face hardened and she whacked him on the back of the head. "You are _never_ pulling that prank again."


	2. A Nest for Two

Before she met him, June Monroe knew that over one million bird species built nests for themselves and their young. After she met him, she added one non-avian species _Clintannis Bartonus_ to that list.

From his codename, she expected a few oddities, but (abet foolishly) she kept these to the small quirks of the occasional bird metaphor and an unsated longing to fly. Really, who didn't want to fly? She'd gone through the mental checklist as soon as he'd given her the grand tour of his, now _their_ , apartment.

Kitchen, small and sparse. Sitting room with little more than the expected couch and a few chairs although she did raise her eyebrow at the hammock hanging halfway up the wall close to the windows. The basement was more like him- targets tacked to the wall, along with a worn punching bag and two dummies in a corner near his rack of weapons with training mats lining one wall. Coincidentally or not, the tour ended in the bedroom with Clint standing just inside the doorway as June went right in.

"So, that's it. The décor, uh, isn't…"

"Not your idea? It does look like a woman's touch." June circled the room, noting a large open space while the furniture was pushed to the sides as much as possible. Although the floor was carpeted (beige), there wasn't even a rug in the middle. Making a mental note of all the changes she'd make, she laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling to smile when she saw the glow in the dark planets and stars arranged in what she assumed was a realistic pattern.

"Sleeping under the stars?" She glanced over to see him subtly shifting his weight from foot to foot and he scratched the back of his head. "This bed isn't right though. It's too clean. Either you have a girlfriend you just kicked out and are hiding the evidence or you climb out the window and sleep in a tree at night."

He scoffed outright. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't sleep in a tree… or have a girlfriend" he added quickly when her eyes began to light up in an _aha_ moment.

She sat up and narrowed her eyes as she tried to place his uneasiness. "Is there a nightlight hidden around here someplace? Or you snore so loudly I'll need earplugs just to sleep? Or you don't believe in pajamas and you're afraid of changing your routine?" she tried, only to watch him shake his head in response after every one. "Or you're worried about impressing me."

"I'm confident in my skill set. On and off the range."

"Then why…?" but he had crossed the room and come to steal her breath away with a kiss before she could get the rest of the words out.

"I'm going to prove you so wrong, June Monroe," he promised in a whisper as one hand tangled in her hair and the other held her in place by the shoulder.

Later, she would consider how unusual it was that she only saw him come to the bed and he was always long gone by the time she woke up; either he got up even earlier than she thought or unnecessarily gave her the entire bed because his side was always long cold by the time she woke up.

The week passed eventfully—sparring together in the basement followed by an hour long massage where her sore muscles turned to putty beneath his hands, breakfast at a local bakery where the fresh apple turnovers took her back to her homeland, being impressed by his mild cooking skills, sharing stories of their pasts long into the night as his shoulder pillowed his head and their shared body heat was the only blanket either of them needed, and their first reconnaissance together. But the knowledge that something was off couldn't quite leave her.

One night, she was jarred out of her sleep when she felt his warmth pull away and the bed shift to accommodate the lessened weight. "Clint" she murmured, sleep groggy, reaching out for him only to find her hand meet empty air. She cracked open an eye and saw him gathering pillows and a blanket to sleep on the floor. No, that couldn't be right… "Clint" she tried again.

"Go back to sleep, Junebug," he whispered, coming over to pull up the covers over her. "I'm just going to be a few minutes."

"But…"

"Nothing's wrong. Just go back to sleep. I'll be right here." He kissed her forehead then moved back to what he was doing.

And that time, she believed him. The next morning, just like all those other times, his side was cold and she knew he had lied to her again.

This night, June was ready. She'd purposely drank two cups of coffee before bed and removed all the evidence. After they'd had their customary snuggling and chatting, June pretended to fall asleep beside him. She evened her breathing, became a dead weight and ignored the feel of his hand stroking her cheek. It felt like hours, but finally he was satisfied that she was asleep and got up. She listened to the rustle of linen and the creak of floorboards as he moved back and forth… when she shifted ever so slightly to the side and opened her eyes, June nearly laughed aloud when she saw the pile of pillows and blankets arranged with care on the floor. The legendary Hawkeye was building himself a nest! Suddenly his earlier unease made sense… he was so accustomed to sleeping in his homemade nests that he'd panicked when he'd have to start sleeping in a bed.

Oh you adorable birdbrain, she thought. She smiled as she watched him give his nest a one over before climbing into the middle and curling up on his side with a contented sigh. Now it was her turn to wait and count the minutes before he fell asleep. When she thought it was safe, she crept out of bed and slipped into the nest behind him with one arm draped loosely around his waist and her head against his side.

 **Epilogue**

Clint awoke with a yawn, only to wind up half choking on it when he realized June was in the nest with him. She lay half on his chest, one arm draped possessively over his waist like a jealous cat. And by the look of the contented smile on her face, she wouldn't be going back to the bed anytime soon.


	3. Bird by Bird

"We're about fifteen years too old for this place."

"It was your idea in the first place."

"Look at some of those kids doing the inking. How are they old enough to legally work?

"People are staring. Shut up."

"I don't want a frat boy staring down your shirt."

"I'm tasing the hormonal-charged girls if they so much as look at your arse. Now _relax_ and read a magazine."

Clint frowned at the _Vanity Fair_ she thrust into his lap and the prominent close-up of Tony Stark that pasted the cover. With a sigh, he flipped to the contents: Work, Women and Wisecracks: Iron Man Reveals All! Is Hulking Out Working out for NYC? Web of Lies: Black Widow and Her Checkered Past. When Truth, Justice and the American Way Dates Five Girls (Steve Rogers claims they all stalked him to his real date). Why Thor is the Paramount of Masculinity. He flipped through, half relieved and half jealous that he hadn't been mentioned again.

"That's right," he muttered, glaring at Tony's closeup. "There's only five Avengers. The other guy who runs with them is just an enthusiastic onlooker."

June smiled, flipping to the back and pointed to a picture of them that had someone made the Superhero Sightings. It was one of the nicer photos included where they'd been caught in a kiss with his hands tangled in her hair and her fingers in his belt loops, holding him in place. But even this was marred by an obviously photoshopped image of Natasha looking on in horror.

"Nope. Still biased."

She sided up closer to him, tracing a scar on his wrist. "You'll always be my favorite Avenger."

"Pretty sure that was a given the day you said 'I do'." He matched her smile and leaned to over wipe it off with a kiss when he saw one of the frat boys and his buddy approach them. "Ready?"

"I've been ready for the last twenty minutes."

They followed the tattoo artists to the main tattooing studio where two stations were set up. "Same time or one after the other?"

"Same" said June first, handing over her picture to the closest tattoo artist. She unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it out of the way so she could point to the expanse of skin right above the neckline of her camisole. "Right over the heart, please."

The artist nodded and guided her over to a chair where she could sit down as he worked. He seemed decent enough, Clint had to admit. He'd probably tattooed a hundred women in various personal places without harassing any of the customers. Still. It felt good to feel the comforting weight of his knife hidden in his belt… just in case.

"And for you?"

He took off his shirt to roll in a neat ball. "Right shoulder blade." Handing over his picture, he laid on the table and thought back to the first time he'd been in a place like this with a completely different woman.

 _It's a sentimental notion, but it's just not something I've thought about, he'd protested when Diana first brought it up. I'm not all that big into the tattooing process, after being tortured by Hydra and the like._

 _I want to memorialize us. Us, right now, Clinton. Her smile turned coy. You aren't_ scared _of the pointy needles, are you?_

 _He threw an affronted glare back at her. Never. And to prove it? I'll get one for you that way I'll always have you at my back._

 _And I'll have a noble hawk always at my side. She traced the patch of skin to the left and below her collarbone._

 _I'm surprised you aren't going to have that noble hawk flying away with a heart in its talons. He smirked. Or did I just guess it?_

And June… June was the same. She'd developed the idea all on her own and had only been more convicted in her decision when she'd seen the tattoo on his back. When he'd explained, she wasn't jealous he still held to the memory of his first wife—a fact he was grateful for. She merely (strongly) suggested they follow suit and he should have her memorial on the other shoulder. Two tattoos, two birds, two women he loved.

But this time, he'd chosen where hers was to go. Sappy, sentimental, and he'd smile every time he saw it poking out of her shirt.

He turned his head to look towards where she was stationed and saw the jet-black raven taking shape. A stark contrast against her lightly tanned skin. And clasped in its talons, an arrow. It might as well have been holding a sign saying _property of Clint Barton; return to owner_ as if she were liable to get lost. His gaze moved up from the raven and to study her face.

 _We're assassins, June. People like us don't get happy endings. He'd been afraid to love again, after Di had been murdered, but June Monroe had been different. He saw her hurting and wanted so badly to fix her broken heart. At first it was just bantering, then it was opening themselves to each other and Clint began to confide in a way he hadn't done since Diana._

 _Then we'll make our own and prove them wrong. Her reply was all fierce confidence in their skills and the determination to have something beautiful while they were alive._

 _They needed each other, plain and simple._

"It looks perfect," June said, looking down at the bird all but flying off her chest. She pulled her shirt back on then came around to his side, her hand warm against his bare shoulder as she watched his bird being completed.

 _We're good at what we do. We'll make it, Clint. You and me against the world._

"Let me see." Trying to shift his body as little as possible, he reached out to touch the bird and felt her heart pulsing beneath it.

She smiled, edging closed. "Does it meet your approval?" she teased.

"To the last feather," he whispered back. And, ignoring the artists still hovering above him, he pulled her close and kissed her not because it could be their last time, or because he was sentimental or afraid, but because they were here _together_.

"Assassins don't get happy endings?" she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

"Let's prove them wrong." And as he kissed her again, he felt the pressure on his shoulder cease and the artist step away.

Two birds now in flight.


	4. Family Outing

Her mission was simple, her partner was in the seat beside her and the assets were waiting in the backseat. Thumbing in her pocket for the coded list, June pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and permitted herself a smug grin.

 _Just like old times._

As soon as the car came to a stop, she counted to three before slipping out her side and quickly opening the back door to undo the straps and take out one of the assets. He cooed happily against her shoulder and she could almost swear that one of the sounds coming out of his mouth was _ma_. "You're almost there. Just a little more practice."

"Didn't he tell you that's his second word?" Clint undid the straps to pull out the second asset, car seat and all. "Because he said _hawk_ that one time you left the house last week."

"Are you sure he wasn't just having a bad reaction to whatever he last ate?" June shot back. "Besides, if he said _hawk_ instead of anything else, all it means is he's been watching his daddy act like a birdbrain too often."

"Cute." He grabbed a cart to set Katya's carseat in the front before holding out his arms for James. With James cradled in one arm, he threaded his fingers with June's and helped steer the cart into the grocery store.

It was the normal she'd never known she wanted, but now she couldn't imagine being without it. As they passed through the automatic doors, she couldn't resist raising her chin just the tiniest bit higher at having two adorable, well-behaved babies and the second-best assassin as her companion. _Go ahead, just try to attack us and see what happens._

"List?"

She brandished it in front of his face. "Categorized by store location. I'll start in produce and you tackle canned food." Tearing the list in half, she handed him the bottom half. "Thirty minutes. Go."

Smirking, Clint snatched a basket with his free hand and whisked James away to the canned food, calling over his shoulder "You don't stand a chance, Junebug!"

It was June's turn to share a smile with Katya. "Don't listen to him. We're the ones with the cart and, between the two of us…" she leaned in closer to whisper to the gurgling baby "…mommy doesn't get distracted in the candy aisle."

Purposely, Clint strode to the canned food aisle swinging the basket in his free hand. "You know the thing with lists, right? They're just a suggestion. Mommy made this list and she forgot all the good stuff—like marshmallows, chocolate chips and those milk chocolate candy bars you like. A little chocolate won't hurt you so I don't know why she complains." With a glance at the list, he dropped the basket to the floor and began going down the aisle, grabbing cans here and there and tossing them over his shoulder to land in the basket. "I wouldn't be surprised if she listed the flavors of baby food to buy." He paused just long enough to glance down the list to see if this was indeed true. "Am I the only one who thinks there should be a line of desserts to follow the broccoli and pea paste?"

Tossing the final can in, he picked the basket back up and headed for the baby aisle. "How's about we pick out a few new flavors?"

June was in her element as she pushed the cart around, tossing one item in the cart and immediately looking up for the next.

"What and adorable little girl," said a nearby shopper and June only spared her a smile and word of thanks while not breaking stride. She was going to enjoy that defeat in Clint's eyes when she confronted him back at home. All she had to worry about now was what she'd make the wager. _Or maybe I'll put it off for a few days and watch him squirm. That would be worth it in itself._ June stifled a laugh as she navigated the cart towards the dairy section. Into the cart went milk, creamer, sour cream and two cartons of eggs. Katya reached out with her pudgy hands and June obliged by snatching a medium-sized bag of trail mix from a sale display that was fairly indestructible to a miniature assassin and letting her daughter "help" by holding it.

"Pelmeni… Abzhorka… Fish rolls… Drachona…" murmured June as she mentally assessed the meals she'd be making that week. Since she'd been taking more time at home, she'd revisited her birthplace as often as possible through the meals she prepared. The twins were too young to eat what she prepared and Clint only turned his nose up at two of sixty traditional Russian dishes she made. With a satisfied nod, she moved to the next section on her list.

"Better hurry up there, June. You're lagging." At the sudden ambush, she tensed and nearly threw a pound of beef at Clint's head.

"Don't sneak up at me like that."

"You left yourself vulnerable on purpose. Just because we're not running from a sniper doesn't mean you act like any other Jane or Betty here." Clint hefted up the basket to upend it in the cart, but she snatched his wrist before he could.

"You are going to take back that comment." She accompanied the comment with the alpha spy glare that had made grown Russian men cry in interrogation.

He raised an eyebrow in response, amused by her show of force. "Want to back that up and make me?"

Neither of them moved. He'd called her bluff and they both knew it. Even if she was willing to satisfy her pride in the middle of the store, there were the kids and security cameras to think about. Home. She'd show him there. Digging her fingernails into his wrist, she felt his pulse speed up a few notches and contradict the devil-may care expression on his face. "You're lucky you're holding my child, Hawk."

"Seems like it would be in your best interest to play things safe so you'll get more," he retorted, though he did cradle James a bit more tightly.

"The thirty minutes are almost up and you've got two whole sections left." She released his wrist, barely pausing to let him empty the basket before cruising off closer towards the finish line. Victory tasted like a hot apple turnover.

It was pre-planned revenge.

Clint zeroed in on the word and felt his chance at winning slipping away with every second.

 _Chocolate_

"She added that on purpose to trip me up," he complained to James, as they rounded the candy aisle. "She comes in and she takes the closest thing within reach. It doesn't work that way for chocolate—you have to see what's on sale and whether it's worth the price or if the companies went and added new flavors again. There's a method to it that your mommy just doesn't get. Never pick a regular Hershey's when Lindt or Ghirardelli is a reasonable price. Truffle over caramel and avoid white chocolate at all costs. If it doesn't have cocoa, it's a forgery and disgrace to the proud title of chocolate."

James babbled in response, and Clint took it to be an agreement with his point.

"I think eight bars and one bag of truffles should be enough. Don't you think? Oh- wait… maybe two bags of truffles." He dropped two bags into the basket then grabbed an assortment of quality truffle, almond, orange and raspberry bars. "Hey, a new flavor! Bacon!" Two bacon bars joined the collection. He looked at the assortment he'd chosen then back up at the selection. "Think we should pick one out for mommy too?"

At two minutes until the deadline, June checked off the final item on her list and pushed the cart to the closest checkout lane. She had nearly finished loading the items onto the belt when she happened to look up and lock eyes with Clint who gave her and her full cart a smirk and headed right past her to the self-checkouts.

 _Nonononono…_

Frantically, June piled the rest of the items on the belt as Clint reached a free lane and began to scan the items one by one. She rocked impatiently on the balls of her feet while she watched the cashier take five years to scan each item and wondered how rude she'd be if she swiped in all back into her cart and barreled over to an open self-check.

"Can't you start screaming and throwing things?" she hissed to her perfectly behaved baby. "We're supposed to be a team and you turned to the dark side… and for what? A bite of chocolate?!"

"Ma'am?"

June wanted to scream herself when the cashier paused in scanning the items to give her a funny look.

"I…need to get home to feed my baby. She's on a schedule." It was the best excuse she could think of in the current situation, but when the cashier moved a doubtful eye onto little Katya who smiled back at her, she knew no excuse could save her now.

Fifteen years later, the final bag was placed in her cart and June was taking her receipt. The cashier probably smiled and wished her to have a good day, but it was pointless now as she watched Clint waiting with those accursed _two_ bags.

 _If this is a dream, now would be a good time to be woken up. Would I take Russia back again?_

Clint sided up next to her to place his bags in her cart then dispelled all those thoughts of Russia with one arm looped around her waist and a gentle squeeze. "That was a dirty move putting chocolate on my list, Junebug. Just wait until the kids are down for a nap and we see who gets the last laugh…"

"You wouldn't."

"I think you know me better than that by now." He poked her in a sensitive spot and June jerked away from him, stifling a cry of surprise.

Next time she'd make sure he was the one left with the full cart.


	5. Wanted, Nanny

From the first moment she'd held those tiny little assassins in her arms and marveled about what she and Clint had done, June had known this day was coming. She awaited it with both reluctance and exhilaration. It meant freedom, date nights and private time, but it also meant her babies didn't need her as much as they used to.

"What if we waited another week?" June asked, prodding Clint until he mumbled incomprehensive words into his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. "Clint? What if we waited?"

"June, you're the one who wanted to get a babysitter in the first place."

"You promised to take me dancing." June pouted, moving to lay atop him and rest her head on his chest. "We'll never find anyone good enough or anyone with enough clearance to know the risks of what could happen."

"Coulson" muttered Clint, swiping June's vacant pillow and plopping it onto his face.

"Coulson can't watch them every time." June frowned at him. "You told me to go ahead with this. How am I supposed to face all the applicants myself?" She began kneading her fingers up his chest, earning an involuntary moan from him. "You promised you'd always have my back. They aren't my children, Hawk. They're _ours_ and we both have the duty to choose the best for them—including the best babysitters." She yanked the pillow off his face. "Do you want some incompetent idiot in charge of our children?"

"You press your luck, woman," he retorted, but the annoyance was purged from his voice when June gave him a slow kiss.

"I'll take my chances."

By the time she'd showered and dressed, the twins were finally beginning to wake up. At the first few noises, June hurried over to get them ready for the day. There wasn't long before the applicants came.

"You know," called Clint from their room "if you really wanted to scare them, we should've worn our uniforms."

"And scare them right off the front porch. What a brilliant idea." June searched though the twins' dresser to find matching outfits for them. "Besides, I thought the whole point was that they _don't_ find out we work for a super-secret organization and get the idea to kidnap for ransom. Oh, perfect!" Two tiger-eared hoodies were just the thing she was looking for. After a little more digging, she found the matching striped pants that included soft tiger tails. "You two will be irresistible."

"So about how many applicants are we talking about? Five? Ten?" Clint came in to swipe Katya and toss her up and down in the air.

June couldn't hide a guilty smile. "Well… thirty seven." At Clint's look of astonishment, she quickly amended "Which is a much manageable number down from the fifty nine applicants I originally had."

"How in the world did you get that many applicants for a simple sitter job? Are you paying them your entire inheritance?!"

"No" June finished dressing James. "I made sure to post the advertisement in enough places to get a strong response." She smirked at Clint as she caught sight of his still-shocked face. "Well don't just stand there. The first one comes in fifteen minutes. And intimidation is key, my Hawk."

Intimidating was a handy key. It got rid of the first three applicants before they even stepped a foot inside. The look he normally reserved for terrorists of the worst sort sent two teenaged girls away crying. The third one was nearly hit by a "misfired" arrow.

"At this rate, we'll never get to an interview!" June threw him a glare and snatched his weapons away.

"I'm weeding out the weak ones." But he relented and resigned himself to keeping the twins busy on the floor until the next ring.

A wizened old woman was the next applicant. She was clean and didn't recoil at Clint's evaluating stare. She also looked uncannily like an older Madame Hydra and she smiled a bit too much when she saw the twins.

"Well aren't they the most darling things. I could just eat them up." Without an invitation, she whisked up James and patted his chubby cheeks. "Delectable."

June's smile twitched. She was probably regretting having let a witch fall through her screening. "Please, right this way. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course, of course." She handed James to Clint, her lips curling into a sneer before she moved past him at to the kitchen table.

"Will one of those questions be 'how soon will you leave this house'?"

June gave him a playful swat as she moved past him. "Play nice."

"And what's your experience with young children?" June waited, pen poised over the paper as she faced the college freshman who seemed to have a hard time keeping her eyes off Clint. The way in which he was leaning against the counter, arms loosely braced against the granite on either side as he alternated between watching them and the twins only served to accent his physique.

"I've watched my siblings a million times and I sort of do this professionally, you know? I like putting it on my resume cos I want a job with kids later."

"How soon would you be able to start?" Unfortunately, she couldn't deny that this was one of the better applicants so far. Even if she was all but drooling on the floor.

"Oh" her eyes wandered to look Clint over appreciatively again. "Right away."

"I'd like to see you with the twins." June got up, waiting for the girl to follow her. Her expression darkening when she saw her flirt past Clint, excessively wagging her hips from side to side.

"So, what do you think?" she whispered while she and Clint watched the girl talking in baby to the twins and handing them toys.

"I think she needs a training collar that zaps her whenever she strays from the perimeter."

"You realize you weren't helping the situation."

"Well you said to knock them down one by one, didn't you? You don't like her, we'll fix that."

"Fix? How?" But June's question was immediately answer when Clint pulled her into a passionate embrace that was alarmingly uncomfortable in front of a teenaged girl. Which, she presumed, is why he did it. Applicant five left shortly after in a huff.

June's smile couldn't have been wider.

Teenaged girls were the theme for the next five applicants. One carried the smell of cigarette smoke and was dismissed immediately. Another kept asking about compensation which caused Clint's eyebrow to raise more than once and make him find the original ad himself, before kicking the applicant out the door. Another lovesick teenager left threatening to sue after Clint snapped two of her fingers at the middle joint immediately following inappropriate contact. The fifth actually had potential—she didn't moon after Clint, she answered all the questions and she actually enjoyed the twins—but not a driver's license. June promised to call her back.

Clint slumped against June's back as she read over the list. "Twenty seven more? You've got to be kidding me. Why can't we just go with the last one? She wasn't that bad."

"And if there was an emergency or one of our enemies broke in? She couldn't drive the twins to safety. And please stop leaning against me."

"I swear you invited a herd of weirdos and social misfits here. If _I'd_ made the tests, they would've weeded out most of those." He straightened, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder to read some of the list for himself.

June laughed dryly. "Your tests would be so rigged that only you and Coulson would have any chance of passing them."

"Not true. You would too."

She turned around in his arms to face him, brow quirked in challenge. "I _birthed_ them. I should be at the top of your stupid list."

He leaned closer, voice lowering. "And then I'd be stuck going out with that juvenile delinquent to-be who was trying to paw me. And all along I'd be pining for my partner." He gave her his best pleading puppy eyes.

June laughed softly, her hands claiming him. "I was ready to break her entire arm in five places. Because" she whispered, mischief in her voice "only I get to touch you like that. The rest of them can watch and grind their teeth in jealousy."

"Pity there are twenty seven more or else we could go do something about that." He echoed the tease in her voice.

June snuggled closer into him. "And what would that be, Agent Barton? Ensuring we have that large family you've always wanted?"

"You just had to sit through the worst two hours of your life. Someone needs to help you _relax_."

"Oh I don't know." She gripped him by the belt. "Would you be able to pass _my_ tests?" A knock at the door and they immediately backed away from each other, their expressions promising to settle scores later.

James and Katya Barton slept on, oblivious.

"And why did you want this job?" June inquired, steadily meeting the eyes of the ex-CIA agent across the table.

"I enjoy work less dangerous. Compared to chasing down terrorists and dodging bombs, children are easy." So far, it had been the first man who'd applied for the job and Clint had perked up in fascination. Approximate thirties, solid build, average height with bushy dark hair and army tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves.

It was the last nanny June could possibly imagine. But an ex-agent… he could be trusted. She glanced to Clint for confirmation, getting a short nod in response. "My husband and I… we do government work that often requires more risks than the average job. You can understand that these risks might extend to our children so we're looking for a sitter who could be available at odd hours and was used to…" she paused on the word "…unusual situations."

He blinked. "You're spies."

"Diplomats" Clint cut in, giving him a glare. "Who often have to resort to force to get the message across. Look, my wife wants to know whether we can trust you to protect the kids and keep your mouth shut."

"Your agency probably has access to my file. If you read it, you'll see that I'm genuine."

When he left, Clint circled his name several times adding the words _call back_ as large as possible as though June hadn't gotten the hint already.

After the ex-agent, no one was nearly as interesting. Clint watched person after person file in, give stupid responses or say the wrong things that seemed to make June grow steadily stiffer—like a mother bear about to maul someone. He was surprised she hadn't started snarling yet. He sat on the floor, a sleeping child on either side of him, arms folded loosely across his chest as he stared down each applicant. After applicant twenty five had left, June looked like Clint felt.

"None of those were good enough."

"I know," murmured June, dropping her clipboard to the counter with a clatter and burying her face in her hands. "I'm a horrible mother—I can't find a single good babysitter for my children."

" _Our_ children," Clint corrected, coming over to take her hands, drawing them from her face. "There were still the two we both liked. Maybe, the one will get her license soon. And I checked into that agent about five applicants ago; his story checks out. He retired, he's single and he's good with kids."

June gave a tired smile. "And kick out the remaining twelve before they step inside?"

"You know you want to."

She glanced towards the sleeping twins. "What if one of those twelve applicants is even better? Will I be failing our children if I don't at least try?"

Clint scoffed. "You failed them when you let some of those whackjobs into our house." He pulled her into a hug, sighing at the touch of her tense muscles. "I know how to settle this." With a quick kiss to her cheek, he pulled away. "Go sit with the kids and I'll fix this."

June was all too happy to oblige. She picked up James, careful not to wake him and rocked him in her lap. "Are we even doing the right thing? What if one of the sitters we chose turns out to be an enemy agent undercover? What if there's an emergency and we aren't notified in time?"

"What if, what if…" Clint came over to her, handing her a cup of tea. "What if you're overthinking this and will only end up making yourself neurotic whenever we leave the house? I know how to solve this." He brandished the remaining files and began flipping through them as June sipped her tea gratefully.

"No, no, no, maybe, no, definitely not, maybe, no, no, never, when hell freezes over. There. Done." He ripped up all but the two maybes and dumped the shreds into the trash. "Was that really so hard for you to do?"

June reached out for his arm. "My loyal hawk…"

"Hold that thought." Clint yanked open to door to find one of his rejects there. "Sorry. Position's been filled. Try Craigslist." He slammed the door before the person could protest.

"That was rude," whispered June, though any admonishment was lost when she nestled into his side. " _Thank you_."

"Anything for you." Clint gently scooped up Katya, grinning fondly at his daughter before slipping his free arm around June. "Everything will work out, Junebug. Just you watch."

June looked over her beautiful family, unable to resist a sentimental tear or two from clouding her eyes. "It always does for us."


	6. It Was Like This

She should've known better than to send him out on his own. At the very least, she should've gone with him to make sure he didn't get bogged down in the candy aisle while he spend ten minutes deliberating between orange and truffle. All she'd asked for was a single dozen of eggs. If he hadn't been in such a good mood earlier—gleeful from winning their sparring match and smug about their shared shower afterwards—she could've sworn he'd driven fifty miles to the closest farm out of spite and waited while a single hen laid twelve eggs.

Next time, she wouldn't let him set a foot out the door. Her eggless soufflé mixture sat forlornly in the fridge and June knew it was only a matter of time before she'd have to throw it out and start over all because he hadn't bothered to come home at a reasonable time.

She paced between the kitchen and the front door, her third mug of green tea going cold in her hand. Reaching for her discarded phone, she tried calling him for a twentieth time only to reach voicemail again. All she could hope was that he'd have the mother of all good excuses when he got home.

Four hours later, as she was consoling herself with a carton of cookie dough, she heard the door and immediately abandoned her ice cream to march over and give her partner a large piece of her mind.

"Where on earth _were_ you?!" She snatched the carton of eggs from his hands. "You left me alone and starving for almost five hours!"

"I got back as soon as I could." Clint tossed aside his coat and made to pull her into his arms and shower her with apologetic kisses, but June only shook her head at him.

"You aren't loving up on me until you explain what took so long." She set the eggs down, moving her hands to her hips and staring him down. "The store is barely five minutes away and I asked you for _one little thing_. It should've taken you a half hour tops!"

"Junebug…" he implored, trying a crooked grin to coax a smile from her, but June stood firm.

"If it had been me missing, you would've had all of SHIELD scouring the streets. If I don't get an answer within the next ten seconds, I'm resorting to truth serum and all the interrogation tricks I know."

Clint's eyebrows shot up. "Including the seduction ones?"

"Whatever makes you talk first."

He mulled that over for all of two seconds before easing past her to the kitchen and downing two large glasses of water then flopping down exhausted on the couch. June stood over him, arms glued across her chest. "Well?"

"I went right to the store like you wanted. Okay, so maybe not the _closest_ store since when I was going down that way I ran into a five car pileup and traffic cones all over the place. Traffic was backed up at least a mile and the rent-a-cops didn't have a clue where to divert it all since it narrowed into a single-one way lane and the traffic on the other side was just as bad because s _omeone_ forgot to warn me that there was a stimulation in the city today."

June narrowed her eyes, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to him.

"The team's supposed to send me alerts for that stuff but I got overlooked again because Pepper was out on vacation and no one else knows how to send the notifications. Anyway, I waited for about twenty minutes until the cops got their act together and redirected the traffic. I got to the store, grabbed the eggs, ignored the candy aisle…" he paused for a beat of self-importance, but June's glare only hardened. "…because I knew you'd be abandoned and starving here" he quickly amended, batting away her hand when she made to poke him in a sensitive spot. "But wouldn't you know that as soon as I got back in the car and started it up, I realized I'd gotten not one but two flat tires."

"Two?" June ran her hand beneath his shirt, pretending she didn't feel the solid muscles beneath.

Clint rolled his eyes at her and sat up. "You know what I mean. So I had to shut off the car and replace both but of course I only had one extra. So as soon as I'd gotten one fixed, I was about to walk over to the car parts store when all of a sudden, I get shoved against the side of the car and a cop is handcuffing me and reading me my rights."

"Liar" June cut in, straddling his lap. "Trust me, you'll want to tell me the truth or else…" she trailed off deliberately, one hand creeping up his shirt.

"No, seriously! I was arrested right there in the lot and shoved into the backseat of a police cruiser while his partner never took his gun off me."

She hummed in disagreement while Clint pretended to ignore her tactics. "So I get dragged down to the station, thrown in a dark room and I'm in there for maybe five minutes before they come back in with their station chief and start throwing questions at me. Like where was I at ten pm last night and who was I with… so I told them I'd been with my wife in our nest and asking 'do I really need to give specifics or can you use your imagination?' so they let go of that one and the biggest cop yells at me for being a smart aleck and slams me against the wall yelling that I'd better start thinking about where I'll be spending the next fifty years if I don't confess to the robbery that was at the federal bank this morning."

"So then you…?"

"So then I said 'there's no way I robbed a bank because I was with my wife all morning so call her and confirm it. Or if you don't trust her, call over to my boss and he can pull the tracking records from that infernal false tooth he's blackmailing me to keep in.' So they call over Phil and of course he comes in spitting mad as a cat because if I'm not such an upright citizen and a member of a secret government society that technically outranks every cop in that building… and furthermore, I'm an Avenger so my kind are working to _prevent_ robberies, not cause more. So then he tells the cops to fingerprint me, which they should've done in the first place before making wild accusations."

June turned over one of his hands and inspected specks of ink on his index finger and thumb. "Go on."

"So they run prints, they run retina, iris, DNA scans and because they're idiots, they pull bloodwork too. And surprise, it all comes up negative. So _then_ one of the cops starts saying that there's some facial inconsistencies between me and the guy they're after." Clint drew in a deep breath. "So then they let me off with a warning. Phil apologizes to me and he leaves and I s _till_ don't have the stupid tire so I get to the store in time to see it being held up by my double."

" _Clint_ "

Ignoring her skepticism, he pushed on. "So there go the tires. I get on the floor like everyone else, trying to hide my face so the creep doesn't get any bright ideas. But wouldn't you know who he grabs as his hostage?"

"The tooth fairy" muttered June, giving him a look that spoke of very little patience remaining. "Know what I do to men who lie to me like that?"

"I'm not lying. This actually _happened_. The guy grabs me, drags me out the front door with a gun to my head and yells that he'll shoot if so one as much sneezes. So of course…" his words trailed off in a sharp inhale when June jammed her thumb into a pressure point at his wrist.

"You were not kidnapped by a man who looks like you. You took a side trip to a bar and had a few too many drinks, didn't you? Or maybe you got in a fight, but you didn't get pulled into the police station and you certainly weren't even remotely arrested."

"I was kidnapped!" Clint protested, straining away from her. "Just as he forced me into his car, I slammed his head into the hood, grabbed his gun and ran for it. Soon as I got free, I ran back to quick buy an extra tire and slam it on, but then…"

June slammed him flat on his back, pinning him down by the shoulders. "Let me guess, a ninja convention ran past and the leader spilled his cappuccino all over your clothes."

"Well…there were ninjas…" Clint's breathing quickened involuntarily, betraying the effect June's methods were having on him. It stung knowing that his own wife could outdo him when she really tried. "…they stole my car but fortunately the eggs were sitting on the trunk so just as they fell, I dove and caught them before a single one cracked." He blew a breath into her face when she settled on top of him, her fingers still digging into his shoulders.

June didn't relent. "Maybe I was wrong about the drinks, but there were still no ninjas, no lookalikes, no cops, no flat tires. So tell me, Clinton Francis, _what exactly took you so long_?"

Clint squirmed beneath her. "Once I had the eggs, I let the ninjas take the car, called Phil to send a team in to retrieve it and just as I was walking up to the door not three houses down…"

"You fell down a wormhole, was inducted into an alien tribe and told to marry the chief's daughter before you escaped and fell back into reality with your memory gone and a carton of eggs in your hand."

"Well…" admitted Clint, "it was kind of like that."

"So with your memory gone, you concocted this whole story in the hopes that I'd actually be a fool and believe it." As soon as he began to relax, June pulled out a knife from a hidden sheath and slowly dragged it down his chest, tearing his shirt in half.

"Hey! I liked that shirt!"

June lowered her voice. If she'd been a rattlesnake, she'd be shaking her rattle madly and milliseconds from taking a bite out of him. "For being roughed up by a cop and a criminal, you don't have a single bruise. Tell me a story to explain that one."

"From the beginning? Well, see there were these two agents—a boy and a girl—and they both decided they liked each other a lot so they decided to do something really crazy about it."

She didn't hold back the laugh that threatened to spill from her. "Why you insane, adorable birdbrain." Shaking her head at his antics, she rested her chin on his chest. "Now tell me what _really_ happened."

Clint rolled his eyes with a sigh. "I've been telling you this whole time. Is it my fault you've got the attention span of a squirrel?"

June arched an eyebrow at him. "If I've got a squirrel's attention span, it's only because a child on the peak of a sugar rush is running circles around me with the story he's tangling himself in. And you, Clinton, just tied yourself a noose." Ignoring his protests, she leaned in to give him a slow kiss. "Next time, throw in an ex-girlfriend and some terrorists to make it more believable." Sliding off him, she threw him a smirk over her shoulder and savored the groan of frustration she earned in response.

To his credit, none of the eggs were broken. But she stared in astonishment at the paper she unfolded from the lid of the egg carton—a bill for one fixed flat tire and spare signed by Coulson.


	7. Karaoke

As Clint saw it, there were only two lists that seemed to matter anymore: Things June Has Done and Things June Still Has to Do. He'd pour over these lists on a daily basis every time he wanted to cross things off from list two. As he saw it, it was a crying shame that she hadn't ever had a sleepover, pulled an all-nighter, called in sick or tried karaoke.

"But at least there's hope," he murmured, adding _rode roller-coaster_ to the things she'd done.

"I feel like you're evaluating me," June complained, chin propped on his shoulder as she looked over the sorry list for herself. "It's a list of all the things that you find wrong with me. Like I'm some pet with all these problems and you're the expert to diagnose and fix everything just so I can be an appropriate living companion."

"You'd make an adorable spaniel."

She frowned, displeased with the comparison. "I'm not a velvety ears, lick your face type. I'd be something more dignified." She shifted to nibble delicately on his earlobe as she considered a more suitable match.

"How about a yappy little terrier that tries to act bigger than it really is."

"Is that the best pickup line you have left?" June smirked in his ear. "Or is this your last attempt before you have to go back to editing that mission report?"

"I don't know… how'd you like to be a secretary?"

"Sitting in your lap while you dictate letters and trying not to imagine all the other things we could be doing with that wasted time?" June moved to the side, nudging his hip with hers.

"Like…?"

"Like being responsible agents and getting our own work done and…" she trailed off, frowning down at his list. "Karaoke?"

"You want to attempt that in here?" His mind was already buzzing with possibilities—June had an amazing voice, a songbird really, and it would be just the debut she needed with SHIELD. Or an opportunity to completely humiliate her in front of her superiors. He couldn't decide which. "You _have_ heard of it, right?"

"Singing," she replied dubiously.

"Yeah singing, but you're seeing the lyrics too. It's fun."

"Is it something that will get us a fast ticket to suspension, detention, demotion or being fired if I'm reading that smug look on your face that says you want to cross that one off here?"

His grin only widened. "Nope. This one's harmless. In fact, I bet they'll all want to join us."

"Well I don't…"

"If you do this without chickening out, you get the choice side of the nest tonight and all the hot water you want tomorrow."

She mulled it over for all of five seconds. "Deal. But no sappy teenage love songs. If I'm doing this in front of people I'll see everyday for the next ten years, I want to keep my dignity. _And_ …" she threw him a challengingly stare "…I think it's only fair that you get up there at least once. Why should I be the only one risking my reputation?"

"Even if I get up and sing a sappy teenage love song and dedicate it to you?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'd be owed an hour long foot massage after that." June narrowed her eyes at him. "If not more."

Word spread alarmingly quickly after that.

As she crossed the halls, she felt their stares boring through her or caught hints of whispered rumors and received more than a dozen song suggestions. It was only going to be a couple songs (of her choice), but everyone seemed to treat her like the next Broadway star, or a part-time club girl—she couldn't decide which was more insulting.

"I don't know where he gets these ideas. I never said I'd perform in front of the entire staff and now they're treating it like SHIELD's version of American Idol."

"In my experience with Barton, there are only two options. Either you go along with it and get it over with so he's satisfied and leaves you alone. Or, you pull rank on him and get into a lengthy battle with will probably end with him winning."

June looked affronted at Agent Hill's suggestion. "I'm his _wife_. If anyone can make his life miserable, it's me and he knows it."

"Would it be so awful to humor him just once?"

"Humoring him just so he can make one miserable strikethrough on that stupid list of his." She glared down at her mug before taking a furious sip. "So I can be one experience closer to being the perfect American wife for him. It was never a problem before—it was endearing how he tried so hard on the little things, but this isn't a little thing. This is him exploiting my ignorance to all our coworkers."

Maria hummed around the rim of her mug. "He said you had the time of your life at the amusement park a few days ago. He could barely pry you off the last rollercoaster."

"I'm tired of being his pet project. I need to get him a trunkful of building supplies so he can renovate and keep himself busy without worrying about me all the time."

"Unless you keep it small, renovating an apartment will only get the landlord on your back."

"There is no small when it comes to Clint." She almost smiled. She didn't hate him—not as much as she pretended to anyway. "He always has to make the biggest impression. Whatever he does, he wants to leave a mark."

"It keeps life interesting for the rest of us."

This comment earned a genuine smile from June. "It's a good thing there's only one of him." And that I chose him, she added to herself.

Maria looked interested. "So you'll do it?"

"I might as well do one song for him. He's promised to make it worth my while."

The senior agent raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment further. Sometimes with the Bartons, it was better to know as little as possible.

Clint sat feet on the desk with the back legs of the chair just barely maintaining contact with the ground as he hummed some stupid teenage song under his breath while he flipped through a pile of potential CDs in his lap. Something with feeling, but not too sappy. He had to embarrass her, but not put himself through too much humiliation—even if he'd put any agent in his place if so much as a snicker came from their mouths. He hadn't gotten to the top of the hierarchy for a rookie to snigger at him. So what if they found out his darkest music secrets? He outranked all of them. Life was short, life was for doing something no matter what the herd said.

"Sentimental?" he mused aloud, studying the offerings of a Lighthouse CD he never remembered buying. It was good but he needed something more lively. Something he could grab June and dance to… he flipped over another CD back then jumped when the door burst open, sending the CDs clattering all over the floor. Ruefully, he looked up to see June watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"If you sing something slow and sappy, I get an hour per foot," she informed him.

Clint rolled his eyes. "I'm not—sheesh." He leaned over to scoop up the closest CDs. "If I have my hands on you for that long, you really will grow soft fast."

She moved her hands to her hips, watching him pick up the CDs, but making no move to help him. "This was all your idea, remember. If I'm making it worth your while, I expect adequate compensation."

"Putty. Soup. Jello."

She stabbed a finger in his direction. "I haven't forgotten about the shower incident, Hawk. Don't go digging yourself a second grave while you're still veering backwards into the first one."

He shook his head at her. "I didn't hear you complaining about it then. In fact…" he paused, unable to resist another jab. "I didn't hear much from you besides all that breathy…" he ducked the CD that was hurled towards his head. "And the moaning."

June gave him a flat glare. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"But you're still going to sing."

She softened minimally. "I'll sing _this once_. After that, no amount of cajoling, pleading, bargaining or begging on your part will ever gain this response from me again. And while we're on the subject." June game closer, a mysterious smile on her face as she came to pick up one of the CDs, glancing at its contents before she handed it to him. "We'll get started on crossing a few musts off _your_ list."

Clint froze, baffled by the mention. "My list? I don't have a list."

"Oh you do now." June kissed him, laughing at his confusion as she airily left the room. She attempted to stifle her merriment as a few passing agents looked on in intrigue when Clint's voice echoed down the hall.

"I don't have a list!"

The first thing June thought when she walked in the mess hall to see all the agents assembled was the national security was at risk with no one watching the monitors. Everyone had seemed to agree this was a break from their mundane routine and chose to watch her either be a star or a humiliation.

Undaunted, she crossed to the front of the room, her chin raised in defiance. She'd show them.

Near the impromptu stage, Coulson waited to start the CD. She had specifically told Clint to keep his nose out of her selections so he'd be surprised along with everyone else.

She wasn't scared—not with all those eyes on her, but she did make a point to maintain eye contact with her smug husband. It was a look that said _see what I can get you into when I want to?_

He would express his awe and amazement later.

"This wasn't my idea," she said into the microphone, throwing a pointed look at Clint. "But I'll see if I can make it worth a few minutes of your time." She gave Coulson a nod. As soon as the first notes played, June began swaying to the rhythm, already putting her soul into the song.

 _"Sunrise, sunrise_

 _Looks like mornin' in your eyes_

 _But the clocks held 9:15 for hours_

 _Sunrise, sunrise_

 _Couldn't tempt us if it tried_

 _'Cause the afternoon's already come and gone"_

She looked out to Clint, watching the affectionate grin spread on his face as her song brought to mind those mornings waking up in each other's arms and those hours that seemed to fly by whenever they were together.

 _"Surprise, surprise_

 _Couldn't find it in your eyes_

 _But I'm sure it's written all over my face_

 _Surprise, surprise_

 _Never something I could hide_

 _When I see we made it through another day._

 _And I said ooh…"_

She didn't know what anyone else thought of the song and she found she didn't care. Right now, it was just them. Two assassins making it through, two assassins making it work. The final note she held a second longer than the CD did; a part of her wanting to make this connection linger. She blushed at the resounding applause and when Clint strode forward to kiss her hand.

"Agent Monroe, everyone!" He raised her arm in the air, grinning at her when the cry for _Encore!_ began coming. "How about it, Junebug… one more?"

She couldn't say no to the puppy face he gave her. This time when she raised the microphone again, there was no CD to prompt her, there was nothing but her own memory and her voice as she dared an acapella.

" _We were both young when I first saw you._

 _I close my eyes and the flashback starts:_

 _I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air_."

A flicker of recognition came into his eyes and she saw his forced restraint to keep from singing along himself. But he kept silent; this was her song. She remembered the first time she saw him, fleeing after the hit he took on her mother and seeing him again at her funeral.

" _Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone._

 _I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run._

 _You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess._

 _It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes_ "."

She focused on the now—the past didn't matter anymore. She kept going, trusting her own voice but faltered when he finally jumped in on the last chorus, singing right to her while he held her hands and gazed at her passionately:

" _Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone._

 _I love you, and that's all I really know._

 _I talked to your dad - go pick out a white dress_

 _It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes_ "."

Then their voices joined together to finish. At the applause, they both bowed.

"Was that really worth a simple crossoff on that ridiculous list?" June murmured beneath the clapping.

"To hear you sing? It's worth everything." He leaned closer, kissing her and sending a thrill down to her toes. "A talent like that shouldn't be kept in the dark."

"Oh hush. You like keeping your little Russian bird in a golden cage so she can serenade you." She laughed when her smart remark earned her another kiss.

"I have to show her off sometimes, don't I?" Clint twirled her around once before letting her exit the stage. As soon as she'd joined the rest of SHIELD, he was left in the spotlight. A glance at June made him sure of his choice and he signaled Coulson to change the CD.

Now that June had left the stage, she enjoyed the anonymity of the crowd, being one of the people looking up rather than the single one looking down. So when Clint began a soulful rendering of John Mayer's "Assassin", she was relieved no one was watching her. As soon as she began to hear the lyrics come from his mouth, she knew this was their story. Their lives, the chance that brought them together.

" _I was a killer, was the best they'd ever seen_

 _I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing_

 _I'm an assassin and I had a job to do_

 _Little did I know that girl was an assassin too."_

She remembered watching the figure disappearing after her mother had been shot. The job—the job that had led them together. June blinked back her tears, not wanting to ruin his performance. When they were sent on missions, assassins could never anticipate the consequences of their actions; this was his life. This song, these words. For a few moments, she saw the other side of him. The strategist that marked all the exits in a building, the executioner who'd follow the orders given to him, the agent who wasn't above making his targets suffer a slow death. But then those traits melted into the man singing his heart out on the stage, his focus on her.

" _Suddenly I know exactly what I did, but I can not move a thing_

 _And suddenly I know exactly what I've done_

 _And what it's gonna mean to me, mean to me_."

His shot had brought them together, intentionally or not. She'd forgiven him a long time ago for it—she wouldn't throw away love on an accident. _What it means to both of us_ , she silently corrected.

" _Little did I know that girl was an assassin too_."

June's breath caught when he pointed to her at the words, causing all the crowd to glance at her to see her teary eyes and lost composure. Less than a second and they were all looking back towards Clint but the damage was done. He'd pay for that.

He was wearing his emotions on his sleeve, but it'd been worth it just to see the song move her. The final notes had barely finished when he threw out anything serious and launched into "Call Me Maybe" from memory, jumping from the impromptu stage to grab June and start twirling her around; the words were all for her. Her laughter and joyous smile were all the payment he needed.

 _"Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad_." He dipped her sharply to the floor, earning a gasp from her. Then, without missing a beat, he flicked his wrist and brought her back up to catch in his arms and gaze at her adoringly. " _So call me maybe_." Clint finished with a kiss so passionate that he could swear he heard the director's eye roll.

"You—you…" June looked at him with an intent to kill, but she couldn't think of any adequate threats to carry out so she just yanked him close to kiss him again in front of their coworkers.

"Cross one off your list, Junebug," he snickered in her ear. "Just several dozen more…"

"Oh no." She cut him off with a sharp nudge. "Next time? We're crossing something off _your_ list."


	8. To Russia with Love

**Thanks to angiev441 for the reviews. This latest installment is written by Hawkward Russian herself. She wanted it posted in this collection so enjoy her fresh perspective on the characters.**

"June, hurry up! Come on, you've been in there for a lifetime!" Clint groaned, leaning his forehead against the woodwork of the door.

"Relax," came June's complacent reply from within, "you still have eight more to go. Besides, this is a necessity. Unlike you, I can't risk being recognized. I need to change what aspects of my appearance I can."

"Yeah well you're taking forever. I was ready in three minutes."

A small silence emanated from the bathroom before Clint heard June's defensive murmur: "It's only been an hour..."

Muttering under his breath about male-female differences, he turned away from the door, making for the window of their hotel room to peer down at the lighted expanse of proud Moscow. Though beautiful, vast and majestic, shining like a beacon in the wintery night, for Clint the city brandished a hard edge; an underlying coldness that delved much deeper than the frozen Russian air. For Moscow, like all of Russia, was based upon the intricate yet deadly web of tradition, heritage, family honor and pride; a web that had ensnared June for far too long, and threatened her at every turn now that she had broken free.

No, Clint had no heart for Russia. If it wasn't for this mission SHIELD had tasked him on, he would have been curled up with June in their nest with a bottle of La Poire in their apartment back in the States. It was only for Coulson's badgering the higher-ups that June was permitted to side in as Clint's partner-something about the op serving as a good field test for any possibility of her becoming a permanent asset to the agency-and that neither assassin would take no for an answer.

All they had to do was not screw this one up. Which shouldn't be too hard. It was a letter drop.

After a brief consultation with his watch, Clint calculated the time it would take for them to drive to the high-end social club where they would intercept their target after he made the exchange.

"Hey June," he called out, loud enough for her to hear through the door, "we've got to leave here in three if we want to reach the Lake Yarina and set up a recon point before Solohob arrives."

"Okay. I'm ready." June called back, before emerging from the bathroom a few seconds later.

Clint's jaw dropped. The change was spectacular.

June stood draped in a black floor-length, back-less gown, her hair dyed a rich auburn and arranged in an elegant up-do secured by pearl pins, while flashing in place of her dark eyes were a pair of bright green ones, their color made possible by the contacts she wore.

"What do you think?" She asked, almost shyly, while watching his face closely in an attempt to catch and read his reaction.

"I think you need to dye your hair like that more often," he confessed, still unable to take his eyes off of her. "June...you look amazing."

She smiled brightly at that, and moved closer to straighten his tie and the collar of his tailored suit. "Its Katarina now, my handsome Viktor," she replied in a flawless Russian accent.

"Well now, Katarina..." He responded coyly, laying emphasis on the name and snaking an arm about her waist to draw her closer, his fingers just brushing her skin due to the cut of the dress. "I'm thinking I need to take you out more often if you look like this every time," his voice dropped to a whisper as he finished, "my beautiful Russian butterfly..." Trailing off with a slow and gentle kiss, unable to resist in the moment, Clint smiled when he felt her hand find his and their fingers intertwined.

"Ready to go?" June asked when they had pulled away.

"Woman, I've BEEN ready," was Clint's smart reply, to which June responded with a light smack to the back of his head, smiling despite herself.

Having made their way down to the lobby, Clint made June wait inside while he brought the luxury vehicle they had rented around to the front, holding the door for her as she slipped into the passenger seat, before running around the hood to the driver's side. It was a relatively short drive to their location, and Clint's watch showed his calculations to be precise when they pulled up at the curb of the club Lake Yarina at exactly the desired time.

Offering his arm to June-one that she accepted-Clint led them into the midst of the small trickle of members who were filing past the men manning the doors, the both of them easily slipping into their role as a couple; this being the first time it applied both on and off the job. Gaining access to the Yarina was smooth and simple as they merely had to ensure that their names were on the list (a necessity in which SHIELD worked its magic), the men posted at the door not even bothering with a pat-down as it was merely taken for granted that everyone within was either armed themselves, or had hired bodyguards shadowing their every move.

It was Russia after all.

Inside, the club was lavish, the interior screaming of an abundance of wealth with the style very much Russian, though not without a bit of Western influence here and there. From within, the Yarina seemed more like a casino than anything else, as most of its space was occupied by crowded game tables scattered about the center of the room. Two of the walls on opposite sides of the room were lined with a bar each, both manned by no-nonsense bartenders who glared at each other from across the room when they weren't occupied with filling shot glasses, while in one corner was a dance floor with an accompanying orchestra, and in the other was a comfortable lounge partially connected to the bar that shared its side of the room. The atmosphere was hazy and thick with the smoke from a hundred cigarettes, and though lax and lazy in mood, there was almost an indescribably sinister underlining.

The people of the Yarina were a mixed group of politicians with their wives, wealthy playboys accompanied by their small entourage of simpering call girls, and large "cultivated" Russian mobsters, each with his own protective circle of stony bodyguards. Everyone was expensively dressed, and everyone was looking to reduce their nearly bottomless coffers by a sum, or gain even more in the process. It was a glaring proof of how much the Yarina must have made in one night.

"Any sign of Solohob?" June asked in a low voice so that only Clint could hear in the constant drone from the crowded room and the crescendo of the orchestra, disguising her words under a slow smile and a teasing glance at Clint, as if she were whispering some innuendo directed at her lover.

"No. I think he's gonna be right on schedule." Clint replied through a whisper in her ear, her hair masking his lips as he kissed her neck lightly.

With June on Clint's arm, together the two of them slowly walked a circuit of the room, inconspicuously analyzing faces, vantage points, exits, and which mobster or doorman would cause the most trouble should something go down. It was a crowded lot, and the threats were so numerable that they soon had to muffle the alarm bells going of in their heads as both Clint and June subconsciously profiled hitmen, assassins, mobsters, and corrupt politicians in the faces they saw.

Yet what worried Clint the most was the fact that June was drawing heads. He could see it as they slowly passed by the men seated around the bars or game tables, and while a large part of him felt pride, there was also a possessive and protective itch that was steadily growing larger in the back of his mind until he involuntarily dropped a hand to rest against her low back. Coming to a stop at the bar beside the dance floor, their position commanding an excellent view of the door, Clint leaned casually against the bar and ordered two drinks for June and himself, smiling at her when the bartender turned away before leaning in to give her a lingering kiss full on the mouth.

"Clint, people are staring," June protested in a half hearted murmur.

"Let them," was his reply, kissing her once more before pulling away when the bartender returned with their drinks.

He had accomplished his purpose. The message was clear. Already men were shrugging to themselves and turning back to their games, nursing shots of vodka.

Suddenly June nudged him, giving him a nearly imperceptible nod towards the door. "Solohob's here," she murmured into her drink, watching him in the reflection of a polished mirror from over the rim of her glass.

Clint stole a casual glance over his shoulder as if looking at the ornate clock that hung over the door. "I count six personnel. All armed. Solohob is...armed. Ankle holster. No side arm."

June's eyelids narrowed a fraction as she mentally envisioned the take down, assessing the six bodyguards through the mirror and making a judgment call on who would be the first to react and how. "Six guards? Three each? Child's play."

Clint smiled slightly to himself at her confidence. "Think you could take them in those heels?"

"Why don't I kick you in the junk with them and you can find out."

Clint smirked. "Winner takes Solohob."

"Deal."

The two of them watched from the bar as Solohob and his men moved away from the door and deeper into the room, and when he took a place at one of the game tables with the air of a man who intended to stay awhile, both June and Clint wordlessly rose and went to the dance floor where a better view could be commanded.

"As soon as he meets his partner and they make the exchange, we close in." Clint reminded, sliding one hand behind June's back and taking up hers with his other hand as they began to gently sway with the music, alternating watches with whoever could view Solohob over the other's shoulder.

"Mm. But only once he's almost to the car. We don't want to engage...everyone else." June said, just relieving her shift up for Clint as they made the turn.

A moment of occupied silence passed between them, before Clint was suddenly surprised by a tap on his shoulder.

"Please excuse me, but the surely the stars would fall down from the heavens if I did not take up the chance to dance with such a breathtaking beauty as the woman on your arm," said a tall, dark man, smirking at June and giving her a slight bow, while it took every ounce of June's self control to not gasp and draw the Glock 19 that was currently strapped to her thigh.

It was Sasha.

"May I?" he continued, shifting his gaze onto Clint with a distinct authoritative and disdainful air, as if there was no room for a rejection.

'He doesn't recognize me,' June reassured herself, forcing herself to get over the initial shock before Sasha would suspect something was amiss.

As for Clint, he would much rather hand June off to a wildcat than to Sasha. It would probably be safer. Yet, he couldn't object. Not in the situation they were currently operating in. To object would be to attract attention or raise the suspicion of Sasha, and in the moment, to do either would spell out the certain termination of the mission, if not death. Looking at Sasha closely, Clint assured himself that he did not recognize June. And they had never met face to face. Clint only knew Sasha from reconnaissance SHIELD photos and the picture June had entrusted to him. And by reputation.

A quick glance at June was all he needed to know that she had come to the same conclusion, and was resigned to the fact that he must let her go. Clint would have to watch Solohob. And Sasha.

"Don't get too comfortable," Clint said in what could have been a light tease, but his low tone and fixed eye turned into more of a warning.

With alarm inside him, every fiber in his being wanting to hold June close and protect her from the monster who was currently leering at her, Clint stepped back and let Sasha take his place.

June had to suppress a shudder when Sasha's hand slid down her skin to rest against her low back, tasting bile and turning her head away to focus on the orchestra while she gathered her composure and buried the rising fear that swelled with the memories.

"Tell me," the man before her purred in a thick Russian accent and easy tone as they danced, "what is your name?"

"Katarina." June replied, relieved to hear that her voice held no tremor and was light and easy as she hoped. Turning her head back to face him, she gave him a smile.

"Katarina..." Sasha said, testing it, the name rolling over his tongue in a way that made June work to suppress another shudder even though the name was not hers. "A lovely name, for a lovely woman. I don't believe you have ever graced our Yarina's presence before...Are you new to Moscow?"

June flashed another soft smile, falling into the role of her cover and pushing the present danger out of her mind to focus. "Moscow? No. This city is the heart of Russia, and Russia is my heart. I am but visiting for now though, and have heard well of the Lake Yarina. It does not disappoint."

Sasha smiled in satisfaction. "Ah, so you are a true daughter of Russia. Will you be remaining in Moscow for long?"

"Alas, no. My husband is in the export business, and must travel frequently. We are only in Russia to meet with a partner of his. I believe we leave in the morning." June answered, leaving Sasha to wonder exactly what she meant by "exporting" as it was a popular term in the criminal underworld.

"I am dismayed that Russia will be deprived of your beauty so soon," he responded, avoiding the question as she knew he would.

June smiled agreeably, and they fell into a weighted silence in which June felt the strain of Sasha's eyes on her and found herself wishing the song to be over so that she could retreat from his dark virulity, and the weight of the fear that gripped her. Oh, how she longed for Clint by her side! Glancing over, her eyes found him just off to the edge of the dance floor, watching them like his namesake with a darkly clouded expression, and only briefly flicking his eyes over to glance at Solohob before resuming his steady vigil over Sasha and herself.

"You remind me of someone..." Sasha suddenly murmured, still watching her closely, and June snapped back to the near and present. "Someone I knew long ago..."

June drew in a breath. "Oh?"

"She was beautiful like you. Free spirited. Kind. Strong. And yet...willful. She ran from her destiny. Ran from where she rightfully belonged." He looked distant, eyebrows knitting as he went back in time.

June remembered too.

"One day I will find her..." he continued, staring into her eyes with conviction. "One day I will bring her back to her home. Back to her destiny. One day I shall reclaim what belongs to me." And the thumb of Sasha's hand against her back ran once, ever so slightly, across her skin.

This time, the shudder could not be suppressed, and Sasha looked at her questioningly, June beginning to worry that he was beginning to recognize her.

"Cold?" he asked, just as the song was ending.

"Very," she responded briskly, feeling the icy grip of fear and revulsion rising within her. "Thank you for the dance," she said quickly as the music ended, before walking speedily away into the crowd and smoke before he could say anything more, leaving him still standing on the dance floor staring after her until she was lost from sight.

Clint found her at the bar, downing a shot of vodka and hissing between her teeth, blinking far more than usual, and took the empty seat beside her, his hand finding hers beneath the bar. She gripped his as if he was her only lifeline.

They sat like that in silence for a long moment, until June spoke up in a flat, low mutter. "Where's Solohob?"

"He's making the exchange right now as we speak. A few more seconds and they'll close the deal. Your five o'clock."

She roused at this, and shifted her body position so that Solohob was visible across the room. He was talking interestedly with another strong armed man who looked like he had worked in the ship yard his whole life, also surrounded by a number of men under his command. As June watched, the two shook hands as a trade-off of briefcases was made, before the partner turned back to his call girl waiting by the lounge, and Solohob made his way towards the side exit, hemmed in on all sides by his bodyguards.

"Time to move." Clint said, as they both quickly rose and started after him.

"No guns," June warned. "We can't have half the club coming at us." Clint nodded, and they parted in the middle, June veering towards the front exit while Clint stayed on Solohob's tail while remaining concealed and inconspicuous in the crowd.

As Solohob and his men emerged outside of the Yarina and joined the frozen night air in the alleyway connected with the side entrance, they had not gone far before they were suddenly waylaid by June, appearing from around the corner in a nearly hysterical state, sobbing her heart out. Surprised, Solohob's bodyguards were quite at a loss what to do, and though the front two warily approached her, breaking the circle they had formed, they made no move in the first moment of confusion.

June's sobbing only increased, and she sunk to the pavement as if overcome, burying her face in her hands. When one of the guards was close enough to touch her, and was reaching out to do just that, a hand on his gun, Clint suddenly struck from the rear of the circle, knocking the two back guards' heads together three times, whereupon they collapsed to the pavement senseless, before he barreled forward to slam the third guard into the wall.

June, the moment Clint attacked, just as suddenly ceased sobbing and swiftly whirled around to take out the front guard's feet, his head hitting the asphalt with a nasty crack, while almost in the same moment, a knife seemed to materialize out of the second's throat. Jumping to her feet as the third front guard pulled his gun, she knocked it aside and latched onto his wrist, twisting it painfully to make him drop it, while slamming her elbow back repeatedly into his throat, crushing his larynx. As he began to suffocate, she stole the knife off his belt and tossed it to Clint who had just finished with his remaining share of six, the master archer catching it deftly by the handle and driving it into the side of Solohob's throat just as he raised his gun to train it on June. With a vicious backhand with the butt of the third front guard's gun, June downed the last man standing, and he collapsed unconscious before suffocating a few moments later.

"Is your fall back always going to be crying?" Clint teased, as he stepped forward to retrieve the fallen briefcase.

"Well, seeing as nothing unnerves someone quite like sobbing uncontrollably, yes. It seemed to work just fine tonight." Bumping Clint slightly with her shoulder as she fell into step beside him, she nodded towards the briefcase. "Mission accomplished?"

He smiled, taking her hand as they walked out of the alley strewn with bodies. "Mission accomplished. I don't know about you, but I think a hot shower is in order when we get back home, and then a movie in the nest. I'll take the first shift flying home."

June smiled at the thought. "I thought you said assassins don't get happy endings," she teased, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Well we'll just have to prove them wrong," he replied, and pressed a kiss to that auburn head.


	9. New Heights

**Here's another oneshot written by Hawkward Russian to enjoy. :)**

They were bored. No missions. No taskforce. Surprisingly no paperwork. No one trying to kill them—not yet at least. And when it came down it, everyone knew bad decisions were made when they were bored.

"I've got it!" Clint cried, catching the rubber band ball he had created during the first hour of boredom on its way back from bouncing off the wall, sitting up from where he had been lying on the carpet with his head resting on June's back. "We could go break into Natasha's apartment and do a bit of redecorating. Get rid of that horrible mod theme she has going on. We'll have to buy a few things from the store first: red and black paint, maybe a few prop skeletons, petroleum jelly, two red Japanese lanterns, dry ice, and about fifty bags of that fake spider web stuff you see on every street corner in Halloween," he said, listing off each item on his fingertips.

"What on earth do you want petroleum jelly for?" June murmured neutrally, lying on her stomach on the floor, her chin propped up on her elbows, not looking up from the newspaper she was reading; the fact that she was even bothering to glance at the paper evidence of just how bored she was.

Clint grinned. "It's better if you don't know. So you in?"

"Nope." June replied, shaking her head while still reading.

"Whaaa? June! Come on!"

"Clint, we're both already on probation for that last series of pranks we pulled; I'd prefer to keep my job and not push it any more than we have to."

He made a face, leaning back against her back and staring up at the ceiling, rising and falling softly with her breathing. "We could star-spangled-banner Coulson's office, complete with a capsicle."

"Did you hear a word I just said?"

"Chocolate coat fire ants and put them on a cupcake for Stark."

"Clint, _no._ "

"Release Dempsey into the Reflection Pool for a few minutes and operate a toll for people to pet him."

June threw down her paper and turned on him suddenly, pointing a warning finger at him and glaring. "You leave Dempsey out of this."

Clint held up his hands defensively. "Hey, the poor guy's probably sick of waddling around in the bathroom."

"So finish his habitat out in the back, already!" June retaliated, turning that warning finger into a prong between his ribs.

"…..But I don't want to." Clint murmured, pouting and rubbing his ribs ruefully before perking up in his defense. "Besides, this was supposed to be _our_ day. No work, no demands….All we're doing is sitting here, June! And don't you give me that look, you're just as dead fly bored as I am. You're reading the freaking _newspaper_ , for God's sake."

"I gave you a veritable list of things we could do today and you turned them all down," June shot back, though knowing that he was right.

"Because I didn't feel like doing any of them."

"Well, apparently you don't feel like doing anything but making other people's lives miserable," she muttered, turning pages of the hated newspaper with a grimace of obvious distaste on her face.

"That's not true, and you know it," he countered.

"Prove it," was her retort.

Clint watched her for a moment, the silence that developed when she finally settled on a page feeling like a literal weight in the room, making it feel even more stuffy and enclosed than it already appeared to be. "So, what? You just going to sit there reading something you'd rather send To Russia with Love for Sasha to keep himself warm in the winter?"

Coolly, without looking up: "Until you think of something better to do, that doesn't involve vandalism, messing with people's things, making other's regret your very existence or breaking any laws, no matter how small and insignificant, yes."

Automatically, Clint began running through his mental list of possible pranks and ploys that might meet those requirements, finding, however, that none did, and knowing that June would tie off any loophole he could try to exploit. With an exaggerated sigh, he lay back against June and resumed his contemplation of the ceiling, watching with a detached interest as scraps of savagely shredded newspaper took flight in the air and flurried about the room, June burying her head in her hands with a groan.

One particularly colorful scrap of paper, gently wafting down above Clint's head, caught his eye, and after tracking its flight for a moment, eyes scanning the heading of the ad written in bold letters, he suddenly snatched it out of the air to read in more detail. "June…."

A noncommittal "mm" was all he got, her position not altering a fraction.

"June, I got it," he continued, still reading the ad and committing the details to memory. "I know what we're doing today…."

She roused at this, and he presented the ad to her with an air that signaled his mind was made up. "We're going to this."

June raised an eyebrow, peering uncertainly at the scrap of paper. "You want to go to an amusement park?"

Clint grinned, liking the idea more and more. "Yeah! It'll be fun! There'll be cotton candy, music, zoo animals, booths, roller coasters, hormonal pubescent teenagers going on first dates…."

She frowned uncertainly, saying in a curious tone: "…..Roller coasters?"

"Of course!" Clint cried enthusiastically, already getting the GPS coordinates for the park on his phone. "What's an amusement park without them?"

"But…. _real_ roller coasters?" June continued, looking a little nervous at his excitement.

Clint turned to look at her with that lopsided grin she loved so much, not understanding what her problem was. "What do you think? That they'd be made of matchsticks?"

"No, just…."

His grin faded into one of disbelief. "You mean to tell me you've never been on a roller coaster before?!"

"Of course I have!" She shot back defensively, yet cracking under Clint's unbelieving stare and deft eyebrow. "No…." she admitted in a murmur, staring abashed at the floor.

A moment of silence passed, in which Clint stared at her in a tight-lipped astonishment at her lack of a childhood, or of her experiencing any fun at all during her days in Outcome and in Russia.

"Well you're gonna ride one today." he finally said with an impassioned finality, giving a curt nod.

June instantly looked up at this, pleading. "Oh, Clint, no! Please, I'd rather not!"

He shook his head, firm on the point. "Its not up for debate, Junebug. You'll love it. I know you will. Besides, there's so much more we can do! It'll be great. A day for the picture album, I promise. Unless…." he trailed off to add emphasis, holding up an armful of shredded newspaper, "you'd rather return to your reading project."

June made a face, looking between the scraps of paper and Clint's puppy-dog eyes before making an overdramatic sigh of resignation. "Fine."

Without a moment's hesitation, Clint whisked her up into his arms, kissing her till she was breathless, before just as suddenly breaking away and dragging her off towards the door before she had time to catch it again.

* * *

Comparatively, even the car ride to the amusement park was more eventful than the hour before. Clint was abounding with excitement, and soon it involuntarily began to rub off on June as well—though she was still dreading the thought of towering roller coasters.

After buckling in, June's first action was to turn on the radio, flipping through the stations while Clint pulled out onto the road. It wasn't long before she happened over a station that seemed to be a mix of popular songs from all genres and eras, and paused over it with her finger still on the dial as the beat of the beginning of a Taylor Swift song caught her attention. Soon her foot began to tap on the floor mat and her head to bob slightly to the beat, though, looking over at Clint, she saw him staring straight ahead out the window neutrally, his body unusually still as if by effort. Still, he wasn't _objecting_ , so she slowly removed her hand from the dial and sat back to enjoy the song, watching the scenery fly past outside her window.

As the song progressed, she really got into it, and after the first chorus ran through—something about not caring what the world thinks and dancing anyways—she learned the words and began to sing along, her head bobbing, feet tapping, and the occasional wiggle in her seat as she danced.

At some point during the middle of the song, June became aware of a third, more masculine voice also joining in, and turning away from the window, she was surprised to see Clint—head bobbing and fingers drumming on the steering wheel—singing his heart out to the song. And not just the chorus either, but _every word_ ; completely oblivious to the fact that his Junebug was no longer caught up in her own little musical world against the window, but was now staring at him in a dumfounded fascination.

Now not only had June never heard him sing before, her Hawk usually preferring to watch and listen to her, but the simple fact that he was singing with all his soul to a Taylor Swift song that he apparently knew by heart, dancing along to the best of his ability in the confined space of his seat, utterly astounded her and she was hard-pressed to hold back a gale of laughter, covering her mouth with her hand.

That was, until, one of his head bobs caused him to notice her staring at him and he suddenly froze like a toddler caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"What _are_ you doing?!" June cried out, unable to hold back her mirth any longer and exploding into laughter.

Clint scowled, turning to glare out the window at the road ahead while pushing his glasses down over his eyes. "What does it look like?" he replied moodily.

His reaction only made June laugh harder, pausing only long enough to ask in an amazed hilarity: "Where did you learn all the words to that song?!"

His scowl deepened and he pushed the car a little faster, responding in a mutter. "If I told you I would be breaking federal law by sharing classified mission details."

She grinned. "What? Secrets like you dancing like a teenage girl and singing to your scrub brush in the shower?" she teased.

"Shut up."

June only beamed at him, leaning in close to kiss that scowl away. "Oh you adorable birdbrain…." she whispered lovingly, and though Clint kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, a slight smirk curved his lips. Which of course earned him another kiss.

Several minutes later found June unbuckled and sitting in Clint's lap, her head resting on his shoulder while he drove with one hand, the other wrapped loosely about her waist, fingers just under her hem and tracing slow, small circles on her smooth skin. The radio was once more back on, this time quietly playing a temperate Ed Sheeran song while June sang along softly and harmonized, a contented smile on Clint's face as he listened to his little bird.

* * *

"Clint."

"Just one sec, June."

"Clint."

"Just hold on a moment."

" _Clint._ "

Clint whirled around, phone in hand with Coulson still on the line, in the middle of trying to worm his way into free fast-passes, to face June as she tugged on his sleeve yet again. " _What?_ " he asked, a little more crossly than he meant to, and instantly checking his irritation at her face.

"Cancel it. I cant do this. I cant go on one of those things, Clint." she said quietly, anxiety written all over her face, yet ashamed as she watched excited little children run past who couldn't be older than seven, point up at the towering roller coasters roaring above her.

"June…." Clint's face softened and he pressed the phone to his chest. "It's not that bad, I promise," he coaxed.

"They're screaming," she pointed out bluntly.

He blinked for a moment, before reassuring her. "They're not actually _screaming_. They're not dying. It's a good scream. It's like…" he fumbled for an explanation, face brightening when he finally found a suitable analogy. "It's like how you screamed when I threw you in the lake. And like how you screamed when I pushed you down that pile of hay. And like how you screamed when I scared you in the shower, you know before we—"

"Okay. I get it." June interjected suddenly before he could continue any farther, glancing around again at the small children and families milling about within earshot in the crowded park.

Clint grinned devilishly. "It's just like all those other times: initially you don't want to do it, but in the end, you're glad I forced you." He trailed off thoughtfully for a moment, before adding cheekily, "Hm. Though in that light, I'm not sure the shower incident really fits into that analogy…..You know, as it was mutual….." He broke off with a breathless chuckle as June elbowed him sharply in the gut.

Raising his phone to his ear once more before June could get cold feet again, Clint hastily finished things up with a very overworked Coulson, actually succeeding in earning both himself and June a free VIP pass through the entire park. " _…_ Yeah, alright…..Okay, Coulson, I promise…..No causing riots, no rigging the roller coasters, and no faking my own death or mortal injury. I got it. I wouldn't want to do any of those anyways…Relax, I'm not saying I have a better plan! It's just a day out with June, okay? She'll keep me in line…Yes, she's standing right here…..Of course I'm not going to let her out of my sight! What do you think I am? A three year old?"

Clint made a face at the answer he got, responding in a flat monotone. "Thanks, mom. Love you too," quickly hanging up before Coulson could respond.

"He's concerned you're going to try to pull something on everyone here and earn yourself a suspension," Clint summarized, earning an eye roll and scoff from June. "Wants me to stick right by your side and keep you out of trouble," he continued with a mock authoritarian air, flashing her grin.

"Shut up, you. You're not fooling anyone," she shot back, smirking despite herself. "But did you get the passes?"

Clint held up his phone right as it buzzed with a new message from Coulson, the screen displaying two VIP fast passes on it with their faces but different names. "He loves me more than he lets on," Clint answered with a wink.

* * *

"Dempsey is much cuter than all of these," June stated firmly, like a mother defending her child. "And more friendly. And cleaner."

"I don't know….." Clint murmured, sneaking one of the small penguins a piece of churro while he discreetly leaned up against the _Please Do Not Feed the Penguins_ sign, covering it up with his body and mentally convincing himself that he never saw it. "Think Dempsey would want a little lady friend?"

June chuckled. "I'd like to see you try to sex a penguin. Besides, even if we _could_ make it out of the park without anyone noticing, which is statistically impossible, you still have yet to finish Dempsey's habitat. The bathroom is far too small for two penguins."

Clint shrugged. "I like to think that it will improve their relationship—being forced into tight quarters together. It has a habit of putting everything on the table relatively quickly."

June raised an eyebrow, staring at him in mock fascination. "What must it be like in that birdbrain of yours?"

Clint opened his mouth to respond, but June beat him to it. "Incoming. Four o'clock," she said in an urgent mutter, pushing away from the glass wall of the penguin habitat to melt into the crowd.

Dropping the rest of his churro into the habitat for his new feathered friend to finish, Clint turned to see what June was referring to, instantly locking onto the form of a park zookeeper quickly closing in.

"Excuse me, sir!" he called out, still far off. "You cant feed the animals! I'm afraid I'm gonna have to—"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" cried an apologetic June after she collided full on with the zookeeper, nearly knocking him over. "I wasn't watching where I was going! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he replied distractedly, craning to look over her shoulder and catch a glimpse of Clint who seemed to have inexplicably disappeared.

"Good. I'm so clumsy….Sorry again!" With a parting smile, June continued on her way down the path, a smug grin on her face as she caught sight of the zookeeper in the reflection of another habitat, turning circles and scratching his head as he strained to catch sight of Clint.

A few short moments later and a little farther down the path, June giggled as she felt a pair of strong arms encircle her from behind. "Thanks for the escape," Clint whispered in her ear, drawing her close against him.

"Of course," she grinned, folding one hand over his about her waist, while holding up a brown paper bag filled with small squares of meat that she had pick pocketed off of the zookeeper with the other. "Care to go feed the Hawks? I cant imagine churros would agree with their constitution…" she smirked, playfully elbowing him in the stomach.

Clint chuckled, a low, husky sound that never failed to send a thrill down June's spine. "You little minx…." he murmured against her skin as he pressed a kiss to the arch of her neck. "Lead the way."

"What? No sixth sense as to where they are?" she teased. "Cant you hear your brothers calling you?"

He scoffed. "Says the woman who knew _exactly_ where the Ravens were."

"Clint. I have a map."

"So lead the way."

* * *

"That one."

"Are you insane?! It's huge!"

"That's the whole point, Junebug. Go big, or go back home."

"I should have never _left_ home if that's what you're planning to force me on!"

Clint huffed, crossing his arms. All day he'd been working up to the point of finally getting June on a roller coaster, yet every time he suggested it she always immediately shut the idea down. He didn't want to force her into anything—even though he knew she would love it—but she was being so impossible that he was beginning to suspect that there would be no other option.

"WHOOO! BEAT THAT, BITCHES!"

A sudden loud shout of victory from a nearby arcade stand caught both Clint and June's attention. A quick glance showed the cause of the ruckus to stem from an enormous body builder who was prancing about like rooster, a stream of expletives pouring forth from his mouth as he slandered his opponents who had lost against him in a shooting match. Apparently, it wasn't the first time Steroids had won the game either, as a crowd had gathered about the stand, some to watch, others to participate, some even placing bets.

One glance between both assassins showed their minds to be thinking the same thing.

"Mind if I have a go?" June asked casually with a polite smile, earning quite a few surprised glances from the men encircling the booth as both her and Clint slipped through the crowd into the inner circle.

Steroids halted suddenly in his current occupation of cussing out a man who had lost against him, the man's family standing by pale-faced and watching not five feet away, the father himself purple with rage, and turned to stare down at June who seemed like a slender twig compared to him. "Better keep a tighter leash on your woman here," he said to Clint with a harsh laugh. "She doesn't seem to know what's good for her."

Clint merely smiled calmly, leaning casually up against the booth and staring him down. "My "woman" makes her own decisions. Why don't you face her, if you're not too scared."

Steroids let out another scathing laugh, bearing down on June with a smirk that inwardly made Clint want to break his neck right then and there, though his air of cool serenity never wavered. "Alright, bitch. You want a taste of this, I'll give it to you. And then right after I beat your fine ass, I might just get a taste of that as well."

June merely smiled coolly, moving past him to accept the proffered rifle, fully loaded with small pellets. "If I win, you pay for this round and a round for all these other gentlemen here."

Steroids took his place beside her, bearing down his muscled frame against the counter which creaked under his weight. "When I win, you give me a kiss long and hard behind that shed down there."

June glanced at Clint. "Deal."

They both brought their rifles close to their bodies and aimed down range, waiting for the buzzer that would announce the start of the clock. Whoever shot down the most targets—of varying sizes and difficulties—within the one minute mark, won; an electric score tracker displayed over the heads of both opponents.

The buzzer went off and both immediately opened fire, targets dropping and raising, and though Steroids was a good shot, it was clear to all that June was an even better one, taking down target after target with more rapidity than he could even keep up with, pumping in another pellet after each shot in rhythmic fashion and scoring a better accuracy to top it all off. As the clock counted down, the crowd hushed, watching as the score tracker above June's head nearly tripled that of her opponent's, until at last the buzzer rang once more and the game was over.

"How's that for a taste of my fine ass?" June retorted in a quiet voice, flashing her opponent a sweet smile as she laid down her rifle neatly on the counter and walked away to rejoin Clint, calling over her shoulder to the staffer. "Round's on him."

Before Steroids, who was purple with rage and humiliation, could round up on June, Clint stepped forward to intercept him. "I'll take a go at it too, if you're looking to salvage what's left of your ego."

" _Bring. It. On."_ he growled out, snatching up his rifle once more with such aggression that it threatened to snap under his giant hands.

Clint moved forward to June's place and took up her rifle, the clip having been refilled by the staffer. Steroids turned back to his place, teeth grinding with a white-knuckled grip on his rifle. They sighted down range, fingers on the triggers, and the buzzer went off.

If June was good, Clint was superhuman.

After the first initial burst of points for both, by the mid-point Clint was so fast in taking down targets that Steroids could hardly even get a shot in for himself, his arm moving in a blur as he repeatedly loaded in pellet after pellet, while every single one of his shots was a perfect bulls-eye. His score tracker was increasing through jumps. The only sound was the clicks and pops from the mechanisms of the rifles and the sound of the targets collapsing and raising, every eye fixed on Clint and every mouth open in awe.

The sixty second mark passed, and the buzzer went off, Clint lowering his rifle and exhaling one long breath, eyes bright, turning to his opponent who was staring at him, face red, mouth floundering like a goldfish.

"No one calls my wife a bitch," he commented in a straightforward tone, as if speaking to a child, before setting his rifle down, signing his name at the top of the high score sheet the stunned staffer handed to him, and moving to join June who was smirking proudly. As he turned away, a young girl who was clinging to her father's hand suddenly gasped in recognition, saying in an awed whisper: "Papa, it's the Avenger! It's Hawkeye!"

Clint smiled faintly to himself, meeting June's eyes who gave him a "told you they know your name" look.

"I think you just blew our cover…." she whispered in his ear, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Clint grinned, lacing his fingers between hers and whispering back teasingly, "How about a kiss long and hard behind that shed down there?"

She gave a low chuckle in response, raising her voice to address the staffer. "A round for everyone, courtesy of this fine gentleman here." She made eye contact with Steroids once more, silently daring him to break his word in front of everyone, before turning to walk away with Clint, proud of her Hawk's abilities.

The crowd parted for them like the red sea, hushed whispers following them of "Hawkeye", and "an Avenger", as well as questions on who June was, most of them completely unaware of the fact that Clint even _had_ a wife.

"I cant believe they don't know who you are," Clint murmured to June when they were a distance away.

"That's exactly the way I want it," she replied, with an affirming nod. "Besides….Not everyone can be as famous as my Hawk."

Clint grinned at this, blushing faintly. "That little girl is probably my only number one fan in the whole world. If she hadn't have said anything, nobody would have recognized me."

"Nu uh. That's my title." June corrected, brushing a kiss over his knuckles.

"Really? I thought it was The Most Beautiful Woman in the World. Or The World's Greatest Spy. Or….." he lowered his voice a fraction, a little tentative, "The Only Woman in the World Who Hasn't Been on a Roller Coaster."

June's face fell. "I hoped you had forgotten…."

"I could never forget such a tragedy."  
Her face and tone turned pleading. "Cliiiinnnnt."

"You're riding a roller coaster, June. And you're riding one right now. No more distractions. No more tangents," he said firmly, locking eyes with her.

"Clint, I cant," she responded, shaking her head and backing away a step.

"Yes you can."

"No."

" _June…_ "

She stilled at his tone, eyes flicking up to his as he moved in close, one hand slowly encircling her waist while his other just touched her thigh. He saw the fractional shift of her head as she leaned in closer to him, drawn there as if by a magnetic field about them. He smirked inwardly. She could never resist him…

"CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON, YOU PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!"

"Sorry, Junebug. You left me no choice." Clint grunted as her knee clipped his jaw, quickly adjusting her position over his shoulder and securing her kicking legs, though there was nothing he could do about the beating she was giving his back with her fists. Not, he noted, that she was trying to hurt him. Her blows were soft enough to not break his spine, but certainly hard enough to send a very pissed message.

"Put me _down!"_ she repeated, though Clint rationalized in his brain that she could very easily get herself out of the situation with one of her ninja moves if she chose, leaving him gasping on the concrete. Furthermore, he correctly deduced that she would hesitate to do so in such a crowded place for fear that such a skill would pose all sorts of compromising questions in the mind of a bystander. All he had to do was stick to the crowded areas.

Turning about-face, Clint began the short trek to the tallest roller coaster in the park, smiling and waving as people blinked and gaped open mouthed at the two of them, June finally ceasing to beat his back and choosing to rather use her hands to leverage her head up and relieve the pressure of the blood flowing down to her brain, resorting instead to ranting fiercely in Russian.

With his arms busy keeping June's legs in line, Clint couldn't access their VIP passes in his pocket, so he chose to wait in line instead, continuing to nod and smile at those around him while June huffed and ranted, trying to blow the hair out of her face which had already turned red from hanging upside down for so long.

"June, people are going to think you're scared." Clint finally said in an effort to silence the fountain of Russian syllables, inwardly wondering how many foreign swear words she had gone through already.

"I'm TERRIFIED!" She shouted back, more anger in her voice than fear, though Clint did blink for moment. It wasn't every day that June admitted to being afraid of something.

"Well then we're going to face that fear," he finally replied, with a satisfied nod.

And at last June submitted, surrendering to the inevitable and dropping her head to hang limply against his back with a groan.

When the line had run its course and it was nearly their turn, Clint gently eased June off his shoulder, keeping her before him with his arms wrapped about her waist to discourage any last minute escapes, even though the fight was all but out of her.

"I hate you…." she murmured, voice slightly muffled with her face buried against his chest, her arms draped loosely about his neck.

"I know, I know," he replied with a sigh and a smile as he rested his chin upon her shoulder, his hand running up and down her back. "I'm the worst. I don't know how I live with myself."

"Next!"

Pulling apart grudgingly, Clint helped June into her side of the car beside him, right in the front, checking a laugh at the face of a martyr's resignation June was making.

"You're going to love it," he reaffirmed, taking her hand in his and leaning his head back against the seat rest where he could brace for the launch, but watch June's reaction the whole time.

"I'm going to die," was her muttered reply, and this time Clint couldn't hold back the laugh.

"Ya'll ready?" the woman at the switchboard called into her microphone, a barbie doll smile fixed on her face. "Have fuuuuunnn!"

June jumped as the car lurched into movement, gears and mechanisms clanking as it rumbled along at a slow speed around the corner and up the steep incline, the first and largest drop creeping closer and closer.

"Clint, I cant do this. I cant do this. I cant _do this_ , Clint!"

"Hey. June. Look at me. Look at me, Junebug."

Hesitantly, June tore her eyes away from the track to look at Clint, her panicked eyes locking on his supportive calm ones.

"Everything's going to be fine. I've been on roller coasters a lot bigger than this a thousand times. Every time it's a little scary at first, but you're always glad you went at the end. They're perfectly safe, I _promise._ Just pretend we're driving in my Porsche, alright? Where's the woman who would risk life and limb just to have a little fun on the road while I'm driving at 120mph, huh?"

June looked back at the track, the car nearly capping the peak of the drop. "She's right here…"

June's scream at the initial drop was real and was not what Clint titled a "good scream", and for one terrifying second he thought she would break his hand, yet after the first second of weightlessness and terror passed, her scream faded into one more fitting for the situation. Three seconds later, as the g-forces pressed down on them and the wind buffeted their faces, Clint heard an exhilarated laugh from the woman at his side, and turning to look at her, saw a priceless grin of elation on her face, her eyes shining and her hair whipped back behind her. He would have given anything for a picture at that moment to save forever.

Allowing himself a whoop of victory, Clint threw himself into the enjoyment of the ride along with her, laughing and shouting together as the car took them around loops and turns, upside-down, and high in the air, clinging to each other's hand with a white-knuckled grip. All too soon, they reached the end, coming to a halt with a jerk.

"So? Did you love it, or did you love it?" Clint asked, turning to June with a wide grin plastered on his face, breathless and windblown.

June giggled, her face matching his own. "Let's do that again."

Clint leaned over and kissed that grin of hers, elated and victorious. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

In the next few remaining hours they had left before the park closed, Clint and June went on every roller coaster there was at least three times, each time seeming more fun than the last for both of them. Clint purchased the automatic track picture of him and June on her first one, and though it wasn't as good as the look she made on the first drop, it was still a great picture and both of them wanted to remember the day.

"Thank you, Clint," June whispered contentedly, her head resting on her husband's shoulder as they walked hand and hand for the exit. "You were right; I did love it."

"It was a pretty good idea, wasn't it?" Clint smirked.

"One of your better one's, yes."

"Besides marrying you?"

June grinned. "Oh, I think that was definitely your best," she replied teasingly.

Clint chuckled, turning to kiss the top of her head. "Agreed. Now about that shower incident….."


	10. Their First Anniversary

If any of her superiors had stopped in to check in with her then, they would've found June staring off into the distance with a smile on her face. Since this was one of her first times being caught not working, she would have been let off easily. She had work to do, of course, but thinking about tomorrow had distracted her until she couldn't resist devoting all her attention to it.

Tomorrow was the first anniversary. She and Clint had been happily wedded for an entire year.

She thought of the quiet moments—of holding each other in the darkness and whispering their secrets to eat other; the times when she caught his eye and he grinned boyishly in response; holding her children for the first time and having him right there beside her with an expression of complete awe. She thought of the loud ones—yelling at him for a prank he'd pulled over her; singing along to the radio together; his laughter. And then she wondered which ones would be tomorrow.

Her face fell just a bit. She'd relentlessly pursued any hints of information about what he'd planned for tomorrow night, but so far all her efforts had failed her. June had been unable to find reservations, mysteriously wrapped boxes, a cake or even babysitter arrangements. Maybe he had forgotten their day.

"I imagine it's not as compelling the second time around," she murmured aloud, disappointed. She imagined the love-struck younger version of Clint marking every excuse to celebrate when he and Diana had been together. The longer she thought about it, the more disheartened she became until she gave a cry of frustration and buried her face in her arms. "I rub your feet, I birth your children, I love you right and you still don't remember our first!"

Her phone rang and she snatched it up, praying that it was Clint.

"Agent Monroe, report down to polygraph."

"For mine?"

"You're going to interrogate another agent for training. Is there any specific agent I can find for you?" there was a glint of humor in Agent Hill's voice. "Your partner, perhaps?"

She brightened. This would be the perfect opportunity to question him about tomorrow night. If he really was hiding the plans, she's be able to tell in a heartbeat. "Yes, he'll do nicely. I'll be right there."

* * *

Clint had been intercepted on the way to the shower. He smelled like a heady mix of sweat, grass, dirt and leather that June secretly loved. "So, somebody told me this really gorgeous agent wanted to put me under the scope to learn all my dark secrets."

June arched an eyebrow at him. "I don't need a polygraph to learn all your secrets, Agent Barton." She leaned in closer, fastening the sensor tight around his chest and murmured in his ear. "All I need to do is place a few kisses in strategic locations and you'll be begging to tell me everything." She pulled away, running her hand over his jawline.

"Careful there, sweetheart. No doing incriminating things in front of the people who put the cash into our employment fund." Once June had finished with the sensors, Clint kicked back to rest his feet on the table and look for all the world like he was on vacation and not in the middle of an interrogation.

June was quite sure he didn't look like this in any other polygraph he'd been subjected to—except perhaps when Coulson ran it but she wasn't about to say anything when he looked so adorable. "I'm going to start by asking you a series of basic questions so we can establish your normal levels."

"Yeah, yeah. I know the drill."

"Is your name _Clinton Francis_ Barton?" June snickered at the faint spike in his pulse.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Are you currently employed with SHIELD?"

"Yes"

"Do you love your wife with all your heart and soul?"

It was his turn to raise his eyebrow at her. "Have I done something to prove otherwise?"

"A yes or no response, please."

" _Yes_."

June leaned closer. "Does tomorrow mean anything to you?"

"Tomorrow?" Confusion erased any previous emotion on his face. "Uh, no. Just _tomorrow_ tomorrow? Another day alive to spend with the woman I adore more than anyone else."

She glanced at the graph. The lines didn't waver. "So it's just an ordinary day?"

"Junebug, there's never an ordinary day with you." His response was sweet, sincere, but it didn't stop June's disappointment.

He was lying. He _had_ to be. "I need you to deliberately lie for the next few questions I'm going to ask you, Agent Barton." She had to figure out his levels. An agent with his training might be able to lie without it ever showing up on the graph.

He inclined his head. Apparently it wasn't the oddest request he'd gotten. "Shoot."

She moved her hands to her lap so he couldn't see her working her hands together impatiently. She _had_ to know what he was planning tomorrow! "Am I the only woman you've ever slept with?"

"Yes." The graph barely fluctuated. Either he was so assured of his answer or he was that good at lying under a poly.

"If you'd had been facing a court martial and a complete destruction of everything you'd worked for unless you took that hit on me, would you have done it?"

He gave her a sharp look of disbelief. This time, there was a clear emotional response in the graph. "Yes."

June studied him thoughtfully while she tried to figure out a way to bring up their anniversary again without making him too suspicious. "Do you remember what happened a year ago, around this time?"

"I married the best agent in the entire world."

So he did remember.

"How come you're looking at me like that?" he questioned, copying her expression of intense thought. "I'm doing this right, aren't I? All your yes'es and no's."

She searched her mind for another other question to ask him while he was under the polygraph. They'd played with truth serums before on each other but this was different. This, she'd know at least what to look for when he lied. Or so she had hoped. "So tomorrow means nothing to you?" she tried again.

"C'mon, June. What is it with your obsession about tomorrow? Are you sick? Being threatened by someone?" he paused, grinning hopefully. "Pregnant?"

"I wanted to know if tomorrow meant anything to you," she answered honestly. "And no, not yet. But I'm sure you'll look to fix that at your first opportunity." She took his hand, entwining her fingers with his and held him like that for a few seconds.

"Is that what you had in mind for tomorrow?"

She smiled, wistfully. "I'll see you at home."

* * *

As soon as June had left, Clint let out the breath he'd been holding. "Just barely kept it in." He knew full well what tomorrow was and he thanked his lucky stars that June had bought the act. "Junebug, it's going to be a night to remember," he promised aloud. "I'd never forget our day that easily." Quickly, pulling off the sensors, he hurried back to his office to finalize a few of said plans.

* * *

"How could you?" she said aloud, accusing. "How could you forget our first anniversary? I thought we meant that much to you, Clint. I thought we mattered." Giving a loud sigh of frustration, June sank deeper into the tub. She thought of all the ways to make his life miserable when he got home. If she was lucky, it might snap his brain into remembrance mode.

As soon as she'd come home to the quiet house, June had wasted no time in paying the sitter and sending her on her way before she tore the house apart to look for the smallest hint that Clint had remembered their anniversary. Short of breaking through the walls or destroying the ceiling, she hadn't found a single clue. Disheartened by the lack of results, June had confirmed the twins were still sound asleep before soaking away her troubles in the tub.

She tried to remember whether he'd been more stressed or overworked lately. There hadn't been any missions within the past week, no occasions for him to get shot, knifed, poisoned or nearly killed. Since he hadn't done anything, it was up to June to remember their day. She brightened at the idea. Now all she had to do was make a few calls…

Fifteen minutes later, June had called to make a reservation at a fancy Italian restaurant, confirmed the babysitter for four hours, persuaded Tony Stark to lend a hot red Dodge Viper to them for the night and convinced for Clint to be kicked out of work tomorrow at three instead of the normal six. Everything was falling into place—all she needed now was the perfect first anniversary gift. A night at a ritzy hotel was at the top of her list but she'd have to beg Coulson to sit for the twins overnight.

Mentally, she prepared the entire evening—she would come home at noon, which would give her time to settle any final problems, to write out instructions for the sitters and to pack their overnight bags. Clint would come home at three to be surprised with quaint appetizers of bruschetta, cocktail herring and tvorog salad along with a light white wine. At four, the babysitter would arrive and Tony Stark would drop off the Viper. They would head to their four thirty reservation. By six, they would be on their way to Jacob Riis Park where they would take a romantic walk along the beach. At eight, June would call to confirm that Coulson had arrived to relieve the afternoon sitter at to make sure he had everything he needed. By nine, they would check into the hotel and order room service. And by midnight, they would fall asleep in each other's arms. They'd return by nine the following morning and relieve an exhausted Coulson.

"Perfect," she said aloud. There couldn't be a better way for them to spend their day together.

* * *

Clint's favorite time of the day was when he came home to two contended eyas and one tired but patient Junebug. He went for the kids first, giving them each a kiss on the forehead then went right for June and gave her an embrace like they hadn't seen each other in weeks. "Good thing the kids are young enough that they don't mind mommy and daddy kissing," he teased, giving her another one in full view of the twins.

June laughed. It was a sound more precious to Clint than anything in the world. "Well Katya will find it romantic."

Clint shook his head and turned on James. "You know, little hawk, it was a lot more than kissing that made you and your sister."

June bristled. " _Clint_. They do not need to know that!"

"Aw, c'mon, June. What are they going to possibly retain when they're three months old?"

"They'll remember."

He gave June a disbelieving look before snatching up James. "When mommy and daddy love each other very much, they always…" the rest of his words cut off in a mumble when June slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Say another word and you won't be able to do that the next time you 'love me very much'."

"Yeah, she looks like she means it," he said to James ruefully. "And she'd do it too, but fortunately…" a tentative grin slid onto his face as she slipped an arm around his wife. "She's completely smitten with me and could never carry out a threat like that."

"Oh no?" She sided up beside him, grinning mischievously. "Watch me." She picked up Katya and rocked her gently. "You want these two to have siblings, don't you?"

"Now that's just spiteful." He shook a finger at her in silent reprimand but they were both smiling. Even the twins joined in with toothless grins.

* * *

His second favorite time was just after the kids were put to bed and he and June cuddled together. Tonight though he was trying very hard not to act suspicious while he finished a mission report, which _would_ have been done earlier if he hadn't been so focused on making the perfect evening for her tomorrow. Although, for her part, June wasn't doing much to help him stay focused while she lay with her cheek pressed against his back and lazily tracing the raven tattoo on his shoulder.

"Do you drag work home just to keep up your slacker persona at work?" she teased, her warm breath ghosted over his skin, causing a pleasant shiver to run through him.

"I have to keep up a reputation, don't I? There has to be someone who keeps the majority of the agents from becoming Fury's personal worker drones."

She laughed. "If I had known you were playing superhero all this time… is there anything else I should know about you, Clinton Francis?" her hand moved from his shoulder to trace a path down his spine.

"Other than I have the best partner in the entire world, no, not really."

Something shifted in her tone. "You aren't going to do that tomorrow, are you?"

"You and your obsession with tomorrow." He rolled over, causing her to shriek in surprise when she was suddenly pinned beneath him and staring up into his eyes, entranced. "So how's this arrangement working out for you? The whole part-time agent thing."

"I love it. I can be with you at SHIELD and still go on missions and retain my status but…" she paused, a warm smile coming to her lips as she no doubt thought of their two little ones. "…but I can still be a mother. I could never be an agent full time. I'd always be worrying about them. When they're older and less of their time is spent sleeping, I'll have to reassess priorities. Or you could go part-time too."

"I think the director would have a temper tantrum if he lost his other best agent to the domestic life." He redistributed his weigh so he wouldn't accidentally hurt her, but he did cross his arms over her chest and rest his chin on them with a devilish smirk. "And then he'd move in here just so he could yell at me more. Or else Coulson would take up position on the sofa bed again."

"Have you warned Coulson that our kids won't need three parents?"

"I would, but I don't think he'd get the hint." He considered her and knew he had to at least indulge her a little so she didn't think he was a complete jerk to forget their first anniversary. "Where would we be now if you'd have said no a year ago?"

That spark came back into her eyes. His indirect message had been clear and he wasn't in danger of having a wrathful she-devil on his tail. "I'd be stationed in Russia. It might be with SHIELD or it might be with my own contacts, but I think I would want to avoid you."

"You aren't the 'live happily alongside your ex-fiancé type'?"

"To humiliate you, maybe," she mused aloud. "What about you? Would you have a third fling with Natasha out of boredom or would you relentlessly pursue me?"

He made a face at the mention of the fling. "I think I'd shadow you for awhile and leave coded messages until you ran back and said yes."

"So sure of yourself, Hawk?" she said in a tease, reaching up to run her hand along the scruff along his jaw. "Please tell me you'll keep that."

"Both annoy Fury out of his mind so both are staying." He smirked. "And my intuition hasn't failed me yet, Junebug."

* * *

June was all but dancing when she came home that next afternoon, her arms loaded with groceries. He knew what today was—either the display in the polygraph had been genuine forgetfulness or just one of his typical displays—and nothing else mattered. She could handle all the plans. She only had to know that he _knew_ what they meant together. Once the sitter had been dismissed, June set the twins in a place where she could keep a close eye on them, hooked up Clint's iPod to the stereo and got started on the cooking. She made a valiant effort of singing along with the songs, even if she could only follow through on the chorus for most of them. June was ridiculously excited while she flew around the kitchen to stir a pot on the stove, throw something in the oven or to throw ingredients into a bowl.

"I don't need to impress him," she told herself aloud, pausing to lean against the counter and slow her adrenaline-fueled rush around the kitchen. "He'll be happy with anything, but if it's the first time, it should be special." As much as she'd deny comparing herself to his first wife, June couldn't help wondering here and there. Had their first time been more special to Clint? Or would all the preparations June laid out for him only make him miss his first wife more? The longer the doubt nagged at her, the more she wanted him home now and to ask him. Instead, she made herself bring out the album they'd started putting together. She couldn't help but smile as she flipped through the photos chronicling their time together. A snapshot of her face as soon as he'd asked her to marry him. An automated photo at the top of the rollercoaster. A picture of them in the quinjet on the way to their first mission together. Their first married date in a nightclub where Clint had tossed his phone to a stranger so they could be captured together beneath the sparkling lights. Photos of them with their newborn children. She sniffed, reaching up to brush away the wetness from her cheeks. No, she had nothing to be worried about.

Setting the book aside, she returned to preparing the appetizers. She wanted this to be their perfect night—she wouldn't try to compete with his past, but set their own standards. They would have this together.

Her timing turned out to be perfect because no sooner had she pulled the last dish from the oven when she heard the door open and her handsome, slightly wearied partner come in.

"June?" he wandered in, and stopping when he saw her standing behind the table laid with the appetizers and a soft smile on her face. "You…you did this?"

"Happy anniversary," she said simply, coming forward to give him a kiss.

"So that's what you were all uptight about yesterday. Thought I'd forgotten?" he laughed, the sound muffled by her hair. "Junebug, I'd never forget."

She pulled away, reaching up to cradle his face. "You lied in the polygraph to surprise me. _I know_." A note of rebuke came into her voice. "That was the worst prank you've pulled yet. How did you even lie like that?"

"Practice," he admitted. "Convince yourself what you're saying is the truth and it won't show up in the graphs. At

least…" he reached past her to pop a piece of bruschetta in his mouth "…it's worked for me so far."

"I'll remember that the next time you're looking forward to something." She sat down across from him, giving him a smug look at she sat back to rest her feet in his lap and serve herself some tvorog. "I'll just pretend to know nothing about it."

"Payback in full—that's your new motto?" He rubbed her feet, earning a contented purr from her.

"Something like that."

He helped himself to more bruschetta and some herring and chewed thoughtfully while regarding her with a funny look.

She laughed, leaning across the table to poke him in the chest. "What's with that look?"

"The last time you make herring it was because you had a craving." His eyebrow inched up slowly as though there was a contest whether she'd say it before it went all the way up.

"Do you have to watch me take the test so you can be sure?" She flicked a herring at him. "It's an easy dish and we both enjoy it. There's nothing more to it than that."

His eyebrow didn't lower a fraction. "First time you made it, you said you were at six weeks. I remember that. Plus, you've got that look to you." He tipped his wine glass to her.

She matched his raised eyebrow. "Should I inquire about _your_ anniversary plans, my clever Hawk, or should I assume they'll end up trying to give me "that look" again?"

He smirked around the rim of his glass. "You can always ask but I'm not going to promise you an answer."

His smart reply earned him having another herring thrown in his face.

They continued with their teasing and appetizers for another twenty minutes before Clint eased June's feet off his lap and left only long enough to retrieve a long, thin box, which he set on the table in front of her.

June studied the offering for a few seconds, and then at him before curiosity got the better of her and she unwrapped the box to find a sky-blue cocktail dress with short capped sleeves, fitted top and frills that fell to just above her knee. She lifted it out and held it against herself. "It's beautiful." Her eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. "And easy to take off?"

"We'll test that theory out later," he replied with a smug smirk. "What time did you set the reservation for?" At her indignation he merely gave a shrug and said, "I know you, remember? You'd think I didn't have anything planned so you went ahead and made all the plans yourself."

"Seems I can't seem to keep any secret from you," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Did you track my calls too?"

"Nope. I have no idea where you planned to go. Promise."

"But you admit to having made your own plans."

"I admit to having kept plans from you deliberately, if that's what you mean. As for the dress…" a wicked smirk passed across his face. "…it's short enough that it won't have to come off if we're in that rush…"

June's eyebrow flicked up at the not-so-veiled suggestion. "Is your internal clock faulty again? Mine is working just fine." She glanced at the time and hurried off to change. "You'll want nicer clothes if you want people to think we're a couple."

"Uh-huh…" Clint polished off the rest of the tvorog, chewing madly as he went for the stairs. A flash out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to the window, jaw nearly dropping in surprise. "Junebug, there's a red-hot sexy Viper in the driveway! Did you…?" he moved to get a better view and breathed a sigh when he saw his first love still parked where he'd left her. "Good. You didn't scrap the Porsche when my back was turned." He admired the Viper for a few more minutes before remembering what he'd been in the act of doing and hurried up the stairs just in time for June to shove a suit at him.

"You saw our ride for tonight?"

"Did I ever!" He grinned excitedly as his gaze ran over her now in the dress. The tasteful cut of the dress offered many possibilities. "Yeah, I can work with this." He pulled her close to drop a kiss on the raven wing that poked out from beneath the neckline.

June threw him a reproachful look before sliding her hands up beneath his shirt and flinging the garment off him entirely. "I won't let us miss our reservation." But her domineering tone was thwarted in the way her eyes lingered appreciatively on him a few seconds longer.

He chuckled darkly, pulling on the dress shirt. "Want to help get the pants off too, you minx?"

In response, she dangled a bowtie in front of his face. "You might be big enough to get your own pants, Clint, but you're a little young to tie this by yourself."

Muttering a few choice words in German under his breath about all the ways he'd use that damn tie, Clint dutifully changed his pants, but opted to keep his scruffy, sturdy boots on just in case.

June appeared in front of him again, lipstick and a faint tinge of blush making her even more appealing—until he saw the accursed bowtie still in one hand and a brush in her other. It came for him and he tried to duck, but June gave him one of _those_ looks and he grudgingly permitted her to run it though his hair a few times.

"Gee, _mother_ , is there any other way you know how to ruin a romantic evening?" He gave a martyr's sigh when June began arranging the bowtie. Her hands working quickly but gently against his neck and the tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth as she fought with the garment Clint found decidedly attractive. There were many other ways to use a bowtie, after all. While she waged war, he used those seconds to study the face he'd come to love waking up besides every day. He followed the angles of her face, imagining if she were shorter, rounder cheeks, thinner lips, lighter eyes.

"There." She gave the tie a final tug, ensuring that the knot would stay in place. "You clean up very nicely, my love."

"Now you're just getting sentimental." He kissed the tip of that perfectly rounded nose. "So who gets to drive the Viper first?"

* * *

They sped along backroads, laughing in exhilaration as the wind whipped their hair. Their SHIELD ID's readily accessible in the event a police pulled them over and June steadying her phone on her knee—the symptom of a mother battling worry about leaving her children for an entire night.

"I'm going to make you put that away during dinner," he warned, one hand straying from the wheel to tease it from her fingers.

"Clint, these are our _children_."

"Relax. They'll be fine for one night. Coulson will be in seventh heaven watching them all night and you're due for a full night of sleep."

She shook her head defiantly. "I'm ready for a night on the town. Sleep? I can do that tomorrow." June moved her phone to tuck protectively under one leg before moving her hand over to grip his knee. "Impress me, Hawkeye."

"The bowtie's still on," he countered, sticking his tongue out at her.

She threw the look back at him. "That's a start. But… can you go further?"

"How far are you wanting to go tonight? As I recall, you already went past the point of no return."

"You'll think of something." She looked out the window, just in time to shout out a turn. "This one."

Clint jerked the wheel, the car skidding around the curb into the restaurant lot and one quick-response braking saving them from colliding into the slower moving car in front of them.

"Smooth."

"Do yourself a favor and have it in one, _working_ piece when we turn it back in to its owner."

"And where's the fun in that?" He pulled into the closest spot and killed the engine. Before June even reached for the handle, Clint was pulling the door open and offering her his hand. She took it, smiling and they walked in just like that—arms swinging and her gazing up adoringly at him, despite her attempts to do otherwise.

They were directed towards a corner table where they had an excellent view of the rest of the room and could map out all the exits, just in case. They skipped on the wine and appetizers, Clint still having the faint taste of June's dishes in his mouth and knowing that the best here couldn't compare to what she'd made.

"Settled down after having their dinner and about ready to go to sleep," June reported, reading through the texts on her phone. "They'll be up for a snack later so I should let Coulson know."

"Hey." Clint held her wrist to the table, about ready to take it from her. "They'll be _fine_. Coulson can handle two kids easy. In fact, he'll probably put years of discipline on them in one night."

"I know, but…" she twitched uncomfortably.

This time, he held out his hand for the phone. " _June_."

There was no laughing in that tone. It was that surrender-or-duck-the-incoming-arrow tone he saved for the bad guys. Even though June knew there was virtually nothing he could try here while they were in public, she knew she still had an obligation to at least give him her full attention.

"If there's an emergency, she'll call, alright?"

She nodded, relinquishing the phone and earning a grin from him in response.

"You can call back when we leave, if it makes you feel any better."

"Is this where you'd hope we'd be in a year? Is it the life you always imagined of having with your first wife?"

Clint chuckled. "Never bring up the past wives on the first anniversary, Junebug. Mention her and you get all nervous that you don't fill her footprints and it just ruins the night for you. You?" he reached across the table to clasp her hands. "You're not her and will never be her and that's just how I like it. I didn't fall in love with a shadow—I fell in love with a ninja who happens to be the second greatest spy I ever knew."

"Only second?"

He smirked. "Coulson and I tie for first. Sorry, but that's how it'll always be."

"We'll see about that," June promised, thinking about all the ways she could prove she was the better assassin when they were alone together.

* * *

Full to bursting with Italian food, June left with a satisfied smile and a wave to their waiter before she took out her phone to admire the photo again. On impulse, she'd handed it over to the waiter to capture another moment for their photo album and now she couldn't stop smiling at how perfect it had come out.

"Whoa" Clint grabbed her arm just before she walked into an oncoming car. "Might want to hold off on the gawking until you're in stable surroundings."

"It couldn't have come out better." Their smiles radiated pure joy, their arms about each other. And the second one had caught them in the middle of a kiss when they thought the camera had been put down. Side by side, these frozen moments were everything she could hope for.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get them blown up poster-size and weird out all our guests." He opened the car door for her and held it while she got in. "That free tiramisu was worth it though."

"Twenty-four years to the next milestone," she added with a laugh. "I don't think they'll be quick to offer us free dessert next year."

"We could flash ID's at them and see if the SHIELD insignia has any affect." He drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Where to next, Junebug? The night's still young."

"Too young for your anniversary plans?" She finally put the phone away. "Do _all_ of your plans involve denial and enjoying the perks of wedded bliss?"

He shook his head emphatically. "Oh I have plans. It's just too early for them."

"In that case, time for the next stop."

* * *

Jacob Riis Park was host to several stragglers enjoying the last heat of the day. But, as June had predicated, there was just enough other people there to make it feel cozy and not isolated. She slipped off her heels then, grabbing Clint's hand, they made a mad dash off the hot asphalt together and towards the rolling waves. As they neared it, she spotted the chest-high wave looming nearer to shore. Ignoring their nice clothes, both surged right in, June shrieking when the cold water soaked her up to her neck. She plummeted backwards but a strong arm caught her and held her steady while the remnants of the wave surged around their knees. June laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him further into the water.

Sometime between the third and fifth waves his hated bowtie came off and June had to scramble to catch it before it floated out to sea.

"Aw, June. There could've been a fish waiting to snag that."

"I can just imagine," she said dryly. "A fish sporting that bowtie when it's pulled up by a fisherman." She cupped her hands, sending water to splash into his face. "Idiot."

Clint threw his arm up, and as soon as the coast was clear, splashed his wife right back.

She used the bowtie to tie her hair into a ponytail, gasping when the water hit her neck. "Oh you _didn't_." With the promise of retribution blazing in her eyes, Clint actually looked a bit scared.

"Now June, it was just a little….Juuuuuune!"

She tackled him into the ocean, holding his head beneath the water as he struggled beneath her. Her victory was short lived however when he lashed up, compromising her precarious hold against the sandy floor and he rolled her onto her back, her face mere inches above the water.

"You started it by making me wear that tie." He ducked her head below, holding her under just a few seconds.

She bobbed up, drawing in a huge breath before shoving him backwards into the water again. When he went down, he grabbed her by the leg and brought her down too.

"Incorrigible," she muttered, kissing his sandy cheek as they lay there, side by side, the waves lapping gently around them and the beginnings of pinks, oranges and reds coming into the sky.

Clint felt for her hand and took it, his fingers entwining in hers. "Was the dry-cleaning bill a part of your big plans?" he teased, earning a faceful of wet sand. He sputtered, looking in disbelief to see his June fluttering her doe-eyes at him. "Unbelievable."

* * *

The faint sea breeze was enough to send a pleasant chill through them as they walked, hand in hand, along the shore just far inland enough so the water could lap at their ankles.

"They probably think we're crazy," she whispered to him as they passed an older couple. From the corner of her eye, she still saw their indignant looks as the waterlogged, drowned rat couple passed by.

"And they'd be right." He brought her hand up to brush his lips to her knuckles. "Bet you anything this was them forty years ago."

"You'd bet your Porsche?"

He shook his head fiercely. "Anything but my baby."

June laughed naughtily, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear. "I think you hurt her feelings when you got into another sexy car. You'll have sudden car problems for two weeks while she sulks about it."

He did stop to think about that for all of two seconds. "Nah, she'll understand it was just a loaner. I have to be nice to Stark, don't I? You know that and she knows that."

June laughed into his shoulder. "If you spent half the time on work that you spend worrying about that car, you'd be Coulson's second in command by tomorrow."

Clint looked insulted. "I _am_ the next highest up after Coulson. Besides, you haven't seen him get all prissy about Lola."

She craned her head up to stare at the sunset. "The day grows short, Hawk. When are these illusive plans of yours going to be shared?"

His lips curved upwards into a smirk, giving June a very good idea where these plans were likely to be leading. "Let's enjoy this sunset first." He pulled her over to a large rock where they could sit to watch the sky bleed above them. "Did I mention that I like your plans?"

"You did now," she murmured, burrowing into his side and breathing in his scent mixed with the sand and salt. "Is it perfect for you?"

"It was perfect starting when you said yes."

They continued to sit there, hand in hand, enjoying each other's company in silence as the sun finally made its descent.

"Sun's down, day's over."

"Nuh-uh. Ours is just getting started. C'mon." He motioned her back to the car and started it up. "We've got about seven minutes to get into position."

Those were the words she hadn't been wanting to hear. Sliding into the seat beside him, her tone turned positively lethal. "Clint, do these plans involve something illegal that will make others regret your very existence?"

He fought to keep a straight face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied. "My plans just involve a specific place and time."

"If that place sends us into a jail cell, I won't consider it a memorial night." She brushed sand off her legs to sprinkle onto the floor. Tony Stark wouldn't be happy with the ocean souvenirs, she was sure.

Clint watched the road ahead, a slow smile his only response.

* * *

When they pulled into a side street off a Manhattan main road lined with prime shopping, June's suspicion radar was at a twelve. It ticked a few notches higher when she noticed standing guard over it all was the Stark Tower.

"Clint."

"Sssh." He held up a finger, eyes glued to his watch. "Watch the lights."

"The lights?" Her attention moved to the glowing street lights that cast a soft pallor on the abandoned shopping strip. "Are they supposed to do something?"

"Three…two…one." Clint waved his hand in a Jedi mind trick and the lights dimmed out. "The Force is with us."

She stared, stunned, her astonishment turning to disbelief when Clint popped the Viper trunk and tossed her a black mask and cape. "What in the world…?"

He tied on his own cape then helped with hers. "Ninja black or Assassin red?" He held out two spray cans.

June raised an eyebrow, the faint inklings of his plan becoming clear and clearer as she claimed red. "You got Coulson to shut off the lights and cameras, didn't you?"

"Viva la handler!" He threw his arm in the air. "Viva la automated street controls!" Grinning eagerly, he gave his can a good shake and sprayed the silhouette of a bird clutching a knife into the nearest store window. "We've got thirty seconds. Person who tags the most stores wins. Go!"

June kicked off her useless heels yet again and ran for the other side of the street. On the window of a jeweler's she sprayed a heart pierced by an arrow with J+C inside. Shaking the can hard, she darted to the next window and impulsively sprayed a large A—if she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. The next few windows received various alterations on placing the blame on the Avengers. And then just to shake things up, she took a few extra minutes to leave a crude SHIELD emblem. Her laughter echoed in the abandoned street when she dashed to catch up with Clint and together they sprayed "proving you wrong" across two font windows of a clothing store.

"You're going to be carted off to jail, you vandal," said June, still laughing. "And I won't be able to do a thing to get you out."

"Because you'll be right next to me in that jail cell." He checked his watch. "Two minus. Time to tally up." He clicked his spray can to June's in a toast before heading back towards the car, counting off as he went.

"Missed one," June called sweetly over her shoulder as she played her final card—a large "The Hawk was Here" adorning the front doors of Stark Tower itself.

"Well aren't you cute." Clint snickered darkly as he sided next her to add "Beware the Infamous Junebug" near her contribution. "Stark will have _both_ our heads or none."

"Thirty seconds on those cloaking shields, Barton." She held out her hand for his, gripping his hand hard as they fled back to the car, hysterical with laughter. June collapsed into her seat, sides aching.

Clint slammed on the gas and they sped away just as the lights flicked back on, the work of two assassins now in full view of a dozen security cameras. "Ready for phase two?"

June placed her paint-stained hand to rest on his. "Ready when you are, partner."

* * *

Clint slowed the Viper when they came to a single house that looked unsuspiciously like any other house. It was a single-story ranch with a flagpole proudly bearing the flag. The bright lights shining up from the ground to illuminate the flag made June believe this was the home of a true patriot who never retired the colors. But the way in which Clint eyed the darkened house and let out a long slow breath made her believe otherwise.

"And _whose_ house is this?"

He tugged out a small package from beneath his seat and got out of the car, not taking his eyes off the house. "Old One Eye himself." He waved the package. "We're just going to do a color replacement." Clint motioned her to follow and she obligingly got out of the car, curiosity winning her over.

"You're going to be fired ten times over for this one."

"Not me."

They reached the flagpole and stood at attention, Clint raising his hand in a mock salute. "June, retire the colors. Oh wait. Hold up." He fumbled in the package and removed two pairs of gloves, one of which was tossed to her. "No fingerprints."

"No kidding." She pulled on the gloves and slowly yanked down the rope to lower the flag. As soon as it was low enough, she unhooked it and did her best to fold it neatly. "Now what?"

"Now you're going to slip in his house and leave that in plain view with a note. Be creative. Me?" He smirked. "I've got to raise the new flag."

"You're crazy," she hissed. "Crazy! Crazy!"

Clint shooed her towards the house and she moved for it quickly, having no desire to be caught and fired on her anniversary night. Just when she doubted there was any hope of getting in—since the Director would be the last person who would so much as leave a window unlocked—she thought of Clint's "plans" and gave the area a more thorough inspection. Sure enough, the key was hidden beneath a loose floorboard. A naughty thrill ran all the way to her toes as she slipped into her boss' house. As her heart thrummed madly and she tiptoed in, June understood the rush Clint got while pulling one of his pranks. She found a post-it and sharpie and quickly scribbled a lame 'we're onto you' before she set it with the flag on the table and tore out of there as fast as her legs would carry her. She skidded to a stop beside the car to find Clint cheerily whistling as he watched the flag substitute flapping in a faint breeze.

June blinked. "Clint, is that a yellow polka-dotted…?"

" _Two three four, tell the people what she wore_ …"

She gave him a look that said he was clearly out of his birdbrained mind, but finished "… _it was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini_."

He high-fived her as they clambered back into the car.

She continued to stare at the bikini waving back at her in the breeze. "I don't know how you'll possibly top this one in stupidity."

"Ingenuity," he corrected.

"Idiocrasy."

He huffed and tore his eyes off the road ahead to face her. "You felt that rush, didn't you? Wasn't that worth it?"

"Clint, you defiled the flag on your boss' house. Who do you think he'll automatically suspect first?"

Turning back to the road, he muttered. "Alibi."

"Who in their right mind would give you an alibi?"

"Plenty of people!"

"Besides Coulson." She watched the darkness flirt past the car as they drove. "Is the night still young?"

"Yeah." He threw her a genuine grin. "I think we've got time for one more thing before the big surprise."

* * *

By the time they stopped in front of yet another darkened building, June had no idea what to suspect from him. It was endearing that he was trying so hard to impress her and, she had to admit, it _was_ fun. The last thing she wanted to think about was the repercussions they'd be facing tomorrow. "So tell me what this brilliant plan involves."

He shook his head with a sneaky grin. "Surprises, Junebug. And to _keep_ it a surprise…" he withdrew a blindfold from beneath his seat and passed it over to her.

June looked at him for confirmation. Any thought of blindfolding herself while Clint was on a rampage could only lead to the worst public disasters where she'd be labeled as the victim.

"C'mon, it's a good kind of surprise. Promise." He crossed his heart and his expression was so boyishly sincere that June couldn't help but smile.

"I'm trusting you," she warned, reaching up to tie on her blindfold. "If you put some crime on my head, you'll be begging for forgiveness for days."

He chuckled under his breath, starting up the car again. "You'll be _thanking_ me for days."

She felt the car u-turn and she had to make a conscious effort not to could the number of times they stopped at intersections or the turns they made. She sat there, listening to the muted radio and playing with her ring while Clint kept silent at the wheel. She could feel his smile though. Whatever this was, it would be genuine. "You aren't taking me back home already, are you?"

"Of course not. There's nothing special enough about that and _you_ , June, deserve only the best. That's why I thought about this for a long time before making the plans."

Feeling for his hand on the wheel, she gave it a squeeze to show her support. And so she could jerk the wheel sharply to the right just once.

* * *

Several minutes later they pulled to a stop. June automatically reached up to undo the blindfold before Clint's hands stilled hers.

"Not yet, Junebug. Wait until I say it's time." He helped her from the car then moved his hand to her upper arm to guide her forwards.

She felt the revolving doors and counted the steps to an elevator, which whooshed them up too many floors for her to keep track of. It was too close for the Statue of Liberty and it didn't feel like SHIELD.

"Is this someplace I've been before?" she wondered aloud.

"You might've but never like this."

Her intrigue building, June went for the doors before they could even open fully, intent on discovering where he'd brought her. "Is this a place I like?"

"See for yourself… _after_ I say you can," he added quickly when she reached for the blindfold again.

She pouted, more for show than anything, but resigned to taking his hand as he led her up a flight of concrete stairs. She felt the cool air and breeze as the door opened up to the outside. A rooftop.

"Okay" he guided her into a position where she'd have the best view of the surprise. "You can look now."

Eagerly, June untied the blindfold and stared in amazement at the transformation of Stark Tower's rooftop. Twinkling tea light were hung around the ledge and on a terrace roof above them while nearby was a table set for two with champaign, apple turnovers and an assortment of finger food cheeses, crackers and chocolates. He eyes moved past the table and she noticed the assortment of pillows and blankets that had been carefully constructed into a nest. A soulful Ed Sheeran song was playing over hidden speakers and the sky above them was so bright and clear, shining with a million stars.

Without a word, she buried her face in Clint's chest and hugged him tightly. "Perfect," she whispered. "It's more than I could've asked for."

The final notes of the Sheeran song had barely ended when the next song came on—a slow sentimental piece.

"May I have this dance?" Clint whispered, dropping one hand into hers.

"Don't I always say yes?" She smiled up at him, blinking back tears of happiness as she grasped his hand and moved her other one to rest up against his back as they swayed to the song, Clint humming to it under his breath. Then he spun her, the tea lights catching the shimmer of her dress and making it glow.

She wanted to tell him how happy she was, how wonderful he was to her, but she wanted to maintain this beautiful moment and not spoil it with words. Words would only diminish it. They mapped the rooftop from one side to another through song after song until they stopped to catch their breath.

* * *

June could've stayed up here forever. She counted the number of blocks to their apartment, which was just visible among the sea of houses and high-rises.

"See they're fine. No smoke or police cars."

"Of course they're fine." She handed him another glass of champaign, snatching up her own before giving a mischievous giggle and shoving him backward to fall into the nest. By some miracle, his glass hadn't overturned. She climbed in beside him, taking her time in making herself comfortable in the crook of his side and trying to soften him like a fluffed pillow while he watched her in amusement.

"Comfortable?" he asked when she'd finally nestled up against him. "I swear I can hear you _purring_."

She gave him a sharp poke in the ribs for that comment but she didn't try to dispute it. "I can't wait to see what you have planned for next year."

"One year at a time, Junebug."

June pointed towards the stars twinkling above them. "North Star. Little Dipper…" she traced the patterns like a child playing dot-to-dot. "Sirius."

Clint leaned in, following the path of her finger. "Wasn't there an archer up there somewhere?"

"Orion?" She scanned the sky for the pattern of stars. "Should be right…" she trailed off, her finger coming down to slowly trace a line down her hawk from head to foot. "Here." Her hand came back up to rest against his heart, which she felt picking up in pace beneath her.

"June…" That was as far as he got before he was meeting her in an embrace both full of promise and of promises to come. His fingers found the hem of June's dress and he began encouraging it up, ready to prove his earlier theory.

June's hands on his face made him pause and Clint met her eyes to see a cheeky smile brightening her face.

"Clint, make herring tomorrow."


	11. A Haunting We Will Go

**Inspired by the 1985 Clue movie... and plain Halloween fun.**

It was the place where you'd find a corpse. Looming fortress with shutters banging in the wind, spiderwebs cobwebbing the nooks of the doors, a white sheet billowing through one of the second story windows. When the terrified woman's scream sliced the silence, June couldn't help rolling her eyes.

"This is ridiculous."

Clint pushed her forward when the lined moved forward, watching as the next handful of people were admitted into the haunted house. "Remember the roller coaster?"

"Yes" she spoke assuredly in a doubtful voice.

"This is almost the same thing."

June looked at him critically, pursing her lips and looking back to the house. "I may never have gone inside one but I know they're all cheap makeup and posed dummies. Little beasties and bumps in the night don't scare me."

"Then this'll be a walk in the park. Don't worry" he took her hand as the attendant ushered them forward. "If you start falling asleep from boredom, I'll carry you."

June giggled, ducking beneath the cobwebs strung in the front door. "That might happen sooner than you think." Her eyes moved from right to left, glancing at each of the distorted family photos that lined the entrance way. An unintentional shiver ran through her at the glowing eyes that tracked her as she passed.

Clint nudged her towards one of the portraits—a thin brunette who was nothing more than a head. "Looks like you found a relative."

She stuck her tongue out at him before moving on. At the end of the hall, a door on the left opened to a dining room set with a full spread of mummified food. Spiders crawled up and down the peeling wallpaper and one guest seemed to have had the misfortune of dying facefirst in his soup bowl.

"Inventive." June came closer to investigate. "Those are obviously animatronics" she pointed to the spiders and then to the man whose back bore a large blossom of blood "and that doesn't even _look_ remotely like blood." Impatiently, she tugged Clint to the next room, but found him still staring at the body. "Well he does look a bit like you."

"Huh? Oh." His attention snapped away from the body. "I just could've sworn I saw someone ahead of us with that same jacket."

"Of course you'd notice a plaid jacket." She tugged him again and he obliged, stealing one last glance at the body.

Ahead of them the corridor narrowed, an electric hum coming from a single bare bulk that flickered and caught shadows dancing on the walls. An unearthly moan came somewhere from beneath their feet.

"And they call this scary."

"Well, you _are_ a specialized operative immune to the sight of blood."

"An assassin" she stated flatly.

"Isn't that what I just said?" His foot caught on something and he pitched forward, half dragging June and coming face to blade with a steak knife.

June gave an indignant huff after she regained her footing. "They should know better than to leave their props in the middle of the hall. What if someone's grandmother tripped over that and sued?"

Slowly, Clint pushed himself onto his forearms, still studying the knife. "I think it's one of the knives from the dining room. What in the world is it…?" he trailed off when he caught sight of the body.

"Some kid probably grabbed it off the table and dropped it when a guard came after him. Mirrors!" She took off, forgetting the body.

There wasn't a pulse but it was still warm. And this time, Clint was positive it had been one of the people in line ahead of them. "June!" He scrambled up after her, reaching for his knife. A third body was wedged in a corner, a candlestick in her hand as though she'd had the notion to kill herself.

A knife, a candlestick… Clint tried to remember what he'd seen near the first body. It was starting to sound like the world's worst Clue game where all the guests died and Mr. Body did the killing.

A shrill cry echoed down the hall, making Clint's blood freeze. _June's scream_. He tore through the hall, ignoring the stupid vampire bats zipping through the halls on wires.

Up ahead was a coffin, presumably Dracula's, on display with wax dummies positioned around. In the open coffin was June, cowering and still screaming.

Without even thinking, Clint threw his knife to hit the slinking shadow in a corner of the room. No serial killer Mr. Body was going to end his wife while he had anything to say about it. He yanked out a second knife, ready to finish the deed when he stopped short at the sputtering heap of machinery his knife had bullseyed.

Long, scaly and hissing faintly.

He raised an eyebrow and looked up to see June peeking out of the coffin, her face flushed red.

"Snake"

"It wasn't even real!" Laughing out of relief and humor, he came over to lift her out of the coffin. "All that talk about the cheap effects and you get scared senseless over a _fake snake_."

A glance at the ruined body made her shiver again. "It was a _snake_. I wasn't about to stop and wait for it to bite me." She jabbed him hard in the chest to make him stop laughing. "It's not funny either. Snakes are never funny."

"C'mon" he squeezed her hand, resignation himself to finding the rest of the bodies before Mr. Body made them Mrs. Scarlet and Mr. Green. "Let's go find those mirrors."

Why a snake had even been put in the haunted house, Clint would never understand. It had to have been left by the killer. "So how would you theoretically kill someone with a giant animatronic snake?"

June looked at him in disgust. "Again with the snake. You're just wallowing in that, aren't you? Snakes do not and never will belong in a place like this. End of story."

Dutifully, Clint filed it away with all the other weird things he'd amassed from this place so far. Next thing he'd see would be a Clue game all set up with the three answer cards face-up.

Victim four was swinging from the rafters and Clint mentally filed away the grim possibility that he would likely be murdered with either a lead pipe, a wrench since he was pretty sure the first one had been killed by the gun.

June was still doggedly hunting for the mirrors and didn't notice the corpse. He would've pointed it out, but something like this was only sure to dissuade her from haunted houses in the future.

"There they are!" Like a child seeing her reflection for the first time, June looked this way and that at her rotund, elongated, thinned and multiple reflections in the mirrors. A gay laugh and she was dragging Clint over to stand beside her and marvel at the changes the mirrors gave him. She waddled like a penguin, tried to guess the sound of a giraffe to imitate the long neck, high-fived fifteen of her other selves and finally, with an insuppressible giggle, plopped down to sit in front of all of them.

"Now I know what to get you for your next birthday," teased Clint, unable to stop laughing at the antics of his wife.

"We'll line the house with them and ignore the weird looks we get from our visitors."

"I'd draw the line there. One room of the house, maybe, but not the whole thing or we might as well deck the whole thing out as some fun house."

Two dozen Junes scoffed at him. "Now who's taking things too far." With a final look, she rose and took his hand again. "Let's see what else is in here. Nothing will be nearly as good as these mirrors."

"I don't know… my favorite part was the snake." Clint ducked, narrowly missing the swat June aimed at his face.

"Watch it, you."

As they continued through the house—this time up a narrow staircase to the second floor, Clint couldn't shake the feeling of the killer watching them. Though, in retrospect, that might've just been all the fake glass eyes glued to the walls. He tapped one, to make sure it wasn't a _real_ eye only to have it fall off and plunk its way down stair by stair.

"Smooth move, Hawkeye," murmured June. "Better hope they don't make us pay for that."

"I think Jack the Ripper's bill is going to be a lot higher than ours," he replied in false cheer. "All that dry-cleaning to get blood out of the carpets, plus the funeral costs and paying people off so this place doesn't get the reputation for…" he stopped when she rounded on him with that look that could only be translated _I did it; I married a lunatic._ "Generally speaking."

She shook her head at him and tugged him into the first room. For someone claiming to hate haunted houses, she was quickly getting into the hang of things. The only light came from between shredded curtains and a nightlight near the floor. An empty crib sat in one corner and, near it, a rocking chair that slowly moved back and forth as though an invisible mother rocked her equally invisible baby.

June looked it all over once and gave it the verdict Clint was thinking himself. "Not scary."

When they returned to the hall, they nearly walked right into another visitor who Clint immediately sized up as a potential murderer. Average build, a fedora pulled low over his eyes and a rather expensive black suit. And the only live person they'd seen.

"Some haunted house," Clint volunteered, discreetly reaching for both knives.

"I've seen better."

"Some of those effects though…" he watched Fedora for any hint of recognition. "They're a little too _lethal_."

Fedora might've either been rolling his eyes or glaring. "What are you talking about. This is American; it's a free country. Don't you know that?"

"I didn't know it was that free." He watched Fedora walk off and relaxed his grip on his knives.

"Clint…"

"June, there are…" he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Fedora was out of range. "There are four dead…"

She turned the next doorknob just in time for a ghost to slam into her.

"Armageddon is upon us!" wailed the ghost.

"It's already here." Clint gave June a hand up. "There are four dead bodies down there."

She threw him a look. "Those were fake. It's only my first time in here and even I know that no one would be crazy enough to kill people in a haunted house."

"Why not? It's the perfect place for a murder because anyone who sees it will automatically do what you just did—assume it's a prop and no one calls the police." While June continued to deny the absurd allegation, Clint turned to the Ghost. "How many bodies did you see?"

"Three downstairs and one up in the master bedroom."

"Sounds like he made another kill since you were downstairs. Two men, two women."

"The one up here was another man."

"Meaning…" June was still giving him that look, but he chose to ignore it for her sake. "He's got to complete the collection with another woman."

"And you just lost your last marble." June grabbed Clint's hand and pulled him back towards the stairs. "Come on and I'll show you there aren't any monsters under the bed… _or_ dead bodies."

A creak of the floorboards ahead had Ghost wailing in terror and brandishing a rubber spider. "Don't come any closer! I'm armed and extremely lethal."

Clint had to laugh at the cowardly valiance, but he held it back and attempted to be completely serious. "June, I told you there'd come a time when there'd be no sign of danger around to you but I'd tell you to jump off the cliff and hope that you'd swallow down reason and trust me."

"I hardly think…"

"June" he dropped her hand and gave her a knife. "It's time to jump."

She looked at the knife and the empty hallway in front of them and then back at him. "If I jump, you'd better be at the bottom to catch me."

"We don't stand a chance against a murderer. There's going to be another three bodies added to the murderer's collection!"

Clint glanced around for any strategic advantages they had in their immediate area, his mind immediately classifying escape options and additional weapons. "No one gets my wife. I don't care who the Ares he thinks he is." After glancing down the railing where woman with candlestick was just visible, he adopted the demeanor he usually reserved for terrified civilians. "He may have all the odds, but my wife and I are sort of special operatives…" he grinned when Ghost's eyes popped out of his head "…you could say we've got a gift for taking down the people who want us dead."

"You're… you're…"

"Clint, stop trying to give him an aneurysm," muttered June as she set to work dragging furniture to create a blockade. "Not everyone can mentally handle meeting an Avenger." One look at the shockstilled Ghost and she knew the damage had been done already.

A roguish wink and Clint was turning to assist his wife. "I think he recognizes you too."

If there was one thing June Barton disliked, it was having to play live bait on her day off.

"You _had_ to drag me to some kill house for a few laughs just to cross off something I never wanted to do on that _stupid_ list of yours!" June hissed, putting all the she-devil possible into her glare. "If SHIELD was looking into a possible murder situation, you could've at least told me so I knew we were working. This" she jabbed her knife into his chest to emphasize her point. "This is not funny."

They were pressed back to back, each covering each other's six from the murderer who had yet to jump out and grab June by the throat. June was still skeptical that a murderer was even out there. "Nothing was worth this," she continued to rant. "I bet you can't come up with a single word to justify all this."

"Bet I can," countered Clint.

"Oh you do, do you? Spit it out if you're so smug about it."

"Mirrors."

June's face fell and she had to elbow him sharply in the kidney when she felt him straining to hold back laughter.

Murderers and spiders have a lot in common. Both are able to spin intricate webs to trap their prey and deliver a fatal bite. Good spiders last a long, long time longer than a bad murderer. The particular murderer stalking through the haunted house at that very moment, his eyes set on the tantalizing blonde armed with a very sharp knife should have spent more time contemplating spiders. And how very finite their little arachnid lives really were.

He crept closer toward the hall where the barricade had been erected, lead pipe ready to deliver the killing blow. When he came close enough to see his final victim, he knew he'd saved the best for last. His other victims had screamed and died with little resistance, but this one would make it worth his while for a few seconds of genuine protest.

The victim backed up twice before taking aim and throwing a knife, which skittered to a stop an inch from his foot. He tisked at her ineptitude and lunged at her, the lead pipe making an arch for her pretty head. As the pipe descended towards her head, three things seemed to happen simultaneously: the victim's knife seemed to impossibly fly out of nowhere to reappear in her hand, he was jabbed in the spine and lost his balance completely when the victim treated him to a truly lethal smile before slamming the knife into his gut. Gravity took hold and yanked him backwards. The last thing he saw was the lead pipe heading for his own head.

June bent over the body only long enough to yank out her knife, nausea rolling up when she looked too long at the dent in his skull. "Did SHIELD want this one for questioning because he won't be answering much of anything now."

"I'll note your 'killer charm' in your file." Clint retrieved the knife she'd thrown and tucked it back onto his person. "Murderer aside…"

She threw him a sharp look. "I'm done with haunted houses. Next time, you're taking me to a fun house."

"And watch you parade around the mirrors for hours…" Clint stifled a smirk, turning to Ghost in time to see him bounding down the stairs and yelling at the top of his lungs about Avengers being here. " _Terrific_."

It was June's turn to laugh. "Does that make me the seventh Avenger?" She struck a heroic pose, sticking out her tongue. "I could be more well-known than the famous Hawkeye."

"Well there's no better time to introduce yourself than at a murder scene." Clint made for the closest window, June right behind him, as the loud murmuring of excited fans came from downstairs.


	12. Jingle Bell Baby

**A Merry and Joyous Christmas to all!**

 **This story is formatted a little differently, made up of a few Christmas scenes that work as a whole. Hope you enjoy.**

 **Please leave your reviews at the door before you leave. :)**

* * *

 **Tree of Ages**

This wasn't how he imagined the first Christmas would go. He surveyed the empty snowy wasteland, breath forming puffs of clouds before him in the freezing air. He glanced down at James, who was invisible beneath several layers of clothes aside from a glimpse of his nose and then over at Katya who was similarly dressed. All Clint could hope for was a continued lack of humanity who would surely accuse him and his wife of child abuse.

"Up ahead!" June paused, smiling as she shaded her eyes against the glare and pointed at the looming grove of evergreens. She clumped forward in her shoe shoes, dragging the sled behind her.

"Was it really necessary to drag them along?"

She wheeled around to face him, astonished. "Clint. It's their _first_ Christmas. This is where we start traditions that they'll remember for _years_. How can you think of depriving them of this like they aren't a part of the family?"

He brushed past her, snorting at her misdirected passion. "It still doesn't justify dragging two infants out in below freezing weather." Before she could throw out another argument for old-fashioned Christmases and building traditions, he smoothly added, "Besides, they won't even remember their first year. And when they look back, even _they'll_ wonder why we dragged them out here. Three years I can see, maybe two, but not less than one."

He could say it a thousand times, in a thousand languages, but the result would still be the same. June was a woman with a plan and nothing would detour her.

AAA

"This one?" Clint nodded towards the closest tree, jogging in place to keep his toes from freezing. Several trips too many to subzero climates and an equal amount of near-critical hypothermia cases had all but obliterated any love he had for the winter. A few hours in the snow was about all he was willing to do anymore. This seemed to be his reward for choosing a mate from a frost-bitten wasteland.

June shook her head. "Too scraggly. It's missing almost an entire section." And then she pressed on.

This had been the reoccurring theme for the past two hours. No tree would satisfy.

"How about a fake tree?" he called after her. "Those are engineered to be _perfect_."

"Never in all the years I'm around will we contend with a _fake_ excuse of a tree! Part of the whole tradition is to go out and find one."

"For heavens' sake, June. It's not a human being—it's a tree!" He quickened his pace after her, his steps slowed by the unyielding snow shoes.

"It might be just another tree to you and your decades of Christmases, but to them it's the only tree they've ever known. This sets the standards of all the trees that will come after. If our standards aren't high now, just imagine what next…" her voice trailed off as she came to the next tree. Meticulously, she walked around it to examine every square inch of it while Clint tried to keep his sanity together.

" _Well_?" He asked at last when she came to a stop.

She looked it up and then down before turning to Clint with a beaming smile. "This one!"

He came forward, settling James in the sled so he could take up the ax and start going at the tree. "Thank the stars. Our next several decades of Christmases are saved." She wacked him in the face for his cheek, but he was just happy it was finally over.

No. It wasn't over. He should've known better. June had become a full-out Christmas vampire, intent on collecting all the goodness of the holiday and sucking it dry.

* * *

 **Will the Real Santa Claus…**

The tree was step one. Clint could only shudder when he thought about what would follow. It stood, enthroned, with the living room now sweetly scented like pine. He came closer, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell.

"Are you almost ready?" June's too-happy voice came in his ear and he snapped his eyes open to see that crazed look that had now become her normal.

"Ready?"

"Clint, how can the twins have a perfect Christmas if they don't get to visit the mall Santa?" her hands moved to her hips. "I told you we'd do this today."

He stared at her in alarm. "Two days till Christmas and you want to go to the mall with the rest of humanity."

She nodded decisively.

He could do it—he could call Coulson, or better yet, a psychiatrist and end this mad June spree. But he only had to take one look at her innocent, hopeful face and knew she needed the perfect Christmas that she'd never had in her life. So he held back a sigh and forced what he hoped was a smile.

He promised himself a hot chocolate when they got there. With extra marshmallows.

AAA

Even June stopped short when she saw how long the line for Santa was. "Oh. I thought most people would've gone already." She took her place at the end of the line that had to be at least two hundred deep, acting as though there were just a few families ahead of them. "There's time for shopping if you need to," she offered brightly. "I'll hold our place in line."

"Next year we're either doing this sooner or not at all." With one last dismal shake of his head at the population percentage in that line, Clint headed up to the front just in time to see a young boy hand the mall Santa a five foot long list. "Oh boy…"

AAA

Compared to the line, the wait in the stores was nothing. He found a few last-minute gifts for June and once he'd checked out, turned to survey the rest of the frantic shoppers with the aire of a victory won. It could be worse. June could've chosen one of the corny breakfasts with Santa or had _him_ play Santa. He could just see her making and extra few dollars by organizing a SHIELD Santa meet and greet.

"Hey."

At the voice he spun around to see some stuck up jerk in an Iron Man shirt emblazed with the words _I survived the battle of New York_.

"You look familiar."

There were two ways this usually went. The way the kid's eyes were widening started the defcon bells in Clint's head. It was always either complete unrecognition or full on fan mode. Just once he wanted someone to recognize him without going crazy.

"You're mistaking me for someone else." Turning, he made a beeline for the exit while still keeping the kid in his peripheral vision.

"IT'S THE AVENGER HAWKEYE!"

Every pair of eyes on the store went from the kid to Clint.

He cursed and bolted for it.

AAA

Miraculously, the line was down to just a handful of people when Clint ducked back into the line and dropped to the ground, feinting trying his laces while the mob surged past.

June looked from the mob to him, unable to hold back her laugh. "You always complain they don't recognize you."

He snorted in derision, waiting until the last one had gone past before getting up again. "That line went down _incredibly_ fast."

"Well, when someone announced that an Avenger was hanging out in one of the stores…Oh!" June eagerly took both twins from the stroller and set them one at a time on mall Santa's lap. As soon as they were settled, she took out her phone to snap the precious photos.

Katya stared up, unblinking at the new person who was holding her. Her lips begin to quiver, but her brother beat her to crying.

"It's okay, it's okay," June cooed, snapping photo after photo in the hopes that at least one would turn out. "Look at his big hat with the jingle bell!"

"June…" Clint shook his head and relieved the poor Santa of James before he could set Katya off too. "It was a year too early."

James' sobs persisted stubbornly as Clint bounced him against his hip, still watching for the mob.

"There's a good girl, Katya. Just a little longer so mommy can get the perfect photo…"

He offered Santa a look of heartfelt sympathy before carrying James off to the side to wait for June while his son's tears began to subside. "It wasn't my idea, you know. Your mommy went crazier than a loon."

* * *

 **With all the Trimmings**

" _Deck the halls with boughs of arrows, falalalalalalalala. Strike the heart and drown the chorus…"_ Clint cheerily scooped up Katya from her perilous climb up the stairs as he made his way down, tossing her in the air a few times. " _Don we now our share of shrapnel falala…"_ his butchering of the classic carol screeched to a halt when he found the tree only half decorated, a glass ball halfway in James' mouth and no June. "Well, an emergency room visit is one way to memorialize their first Christmas." Deftly, he replaced the glass ball with a felt ornament that Clint privately thought could use a bit of destruction.

He watched, jaw slack, as June emerged from the kitchen trailing a long popcorn chain in her wake.

"Great. Give them even more of a reason to chew on the tree." He moved to the side, setting Katya down beside her brother and watched June begin to arrange the popcorn chain. "You know that's about the most blown-up traditions there is."

"You know you're being no help while you're just standing there."

"Maybe that's because I'm not all that fond of stringing food on my tree. Look at that" he swept a hand to indicate the long strand. "You're going to host an army of rodents."

"Mischief," she corrected, standing on her toes to swing the popcorn chain around the top of the tree. "Like you."

"I'm perfectly fine causing my mischief by myself, thanks. I don't need a bunch of rats to help me with it. Though…" he trailed off, hopefully. "Anything to get you to tone down all this _this_."

"Enthusiasm about Christmas?" She rolled up the other end of the chain and thrust it at him before moving around the back to wind it around the tree. "It's their first. _And_ ours."

There just wasn't a safe argument to that one.

AAA

Tree, Santa, decorating… he strained to think what could possibly be next. Cooking? Cooking was safe and something they could all enjoy. Now that he looked at the tree, it didn't look too bad with that popcorn string on it and even that had its advantages. Discreetly, he helped himself to another piece and tucked the strand behind a branch so June wouldn't notice. Too bad it wasn't chocolate-covered.

"Cliiiint…"

He choked on the popcorn and turned, pretending innocence. But, from the look of the two bundled twins ready in the sled and June herself in a parka, it seemed as though the last thing June had on her mind were a few pieces of stolen popcorn.

* * *

 **Winter Wonderland**

"Faster! Faster!" Laughing, June hugged the twins closer when the airborne sled bumped back to the ground. "What's the point of all that archery if you can't give us a decent sled ride!"

Gripping the string harder, Clint snorted in response and quickened his pace. She of all people should've known better than to question him and there'd be a snowball in her face if she brought it up again. "You know… for your wild first Christmas" he said between pants "this is the most normal thing so far."

"And they love it."

As soon as he completed another circuit of the yard, he flumped backwards into the snow, pretending to be more worn out than he actually was. "Your turn."

A snowball beaned him square in the chest and he sprang up in indignation. "Hey! That's the gratitude I get, huh?" he reached over to scoop some snow into a ball. "Right back at you."

June shrieked, throwing up her arms a shade too late after the snowball exploded just below her face.

* * *

 **Twas the Morning**

Christmas, as she discovered, smelled like pine and peppermint. Maybe it was her overeager imagination, but something just felt so _right_ in a way December 25th had never felt in her years in Russia or Outcome. A wide smile spreading across her face, June scrambled out of bed and tore through the closet in search of a robe and slippers. She tightened her sash and smirked back at Clint who wouldn't be peacefully slumbering for long.

"Christmas!" she said in an awed whisper. "It's Christmas!"

She practically flew down the stairs in her excitement to see everything—yes, the tree was there! Presents were arranged beneath it and she was eager enough to overlook the conspicuously empty spaces of the popcorn chain. The cookies were gone! Dancing with excitement, June ran around outside to the back and squealed with glee when she saw the birdseed she'd left for the reindeer reduced to a few scraps. And the hoof prints!

"Christmas! Christmas!" Tearing back inside like a tornado, June launched herself onto the bed and bounced up and down, jerking Clint from his sleep.

"Aw, June…" he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face and leaning to peer at the bedside clock "…it's not even five am…"

"But, Clint, it's Christmas!"

He groaned again and burrowed under the covers, covering his face with her pillow. "You got me up four times last night because you thought you heard something on the roof. I think I earned the right for a few more hours."

June frowned, unhappily. "I really did." Deciding to employ a new tactic, June hopped off the bed and left only long enough to retrieve a plate of his favorite Christmas cookies, which she waved tantalizingly under his nose.

It only took a few seconds before one hand snaked out and whipped a cookie under the covers.

Victoriously, she snatched the plate away before he could get another. "Please?"

AAA

Clint shoved the cookie in his mouth to stifle a sigh. It was the least he could do for her—to make sure this day was perfect. Forcing a half-hearted smile, he met the face of a child waiting breathlessly for permission to eat the final cookie. June's eyes were wide and she was practically quivering with suppressed excitement to start Christmas with him.

"I'm up, I'm up," he murmured, swiping a second cookie.

June beamed, rewarding him with a kiss. "I'll start the coffee."


	13. Compromised Pt 1

**_Here's another one by HawkwardRussian. Will post part 2 when she finishes it. Until then read and review!_**

"Strike Team Delta 01 to Command, over."

Static.

Clint glanced over at June who was crouching beside him in the shadows of the underbrush, watching him, silent and alert.

They were both dressed in full combat gear: black military-grade boots, slacks, under armor and Kevlar vest. Military green utility belt and holsters strapped to both thighs and ankles. Streaks of black paint down both of their cheeks. June's blonde hair had been drawn up tight and now lay partially concealed under some nameless Guerilla warfare lieutenant's cap set at a rakish angle and, Clint noticed, oddly complimenting her face.

"Strike Team Delta 01 to Command, over." Clint repeated, his voice noticeably more strained.

Again he was greeted by nothing but static for a long moment, until all at once Coulson's voice broke through the barrier.

"Tell me you got the flash drive."

Clint breathed a small sigh of relief, though still the low urgency in his voice could be detected. June was as tense as a spring beside him, silent and watchful, though mostly staring at Clint's face, him being nominated spokesperson as he was the one with the radio.

"We got the flash drive," Clint parroted, earning a short exhaled breath from Coulson, signaling as it seemed for him the end of a long and anxious trial of waiting.

"Alright, I have a Quinjet ready for you at the extraction point. You just have to make it into the city bounds undetected, and then-"

"Coulson, we have a situation," Clint interrupted.

Coulson stopped, and Clint could practically hear the tension come back into his handler's shoulders. "I thought you said you had the flash drive."

"We do," Clint reaffirmed. "It was seamless. No one even knew we were there."

"Then what's the problem?"

"We stumbled across something in the facility," he said, glancing at June again who met his eyes with the same cold, flashing anger he felt, in hers. "Looks like the bastards have been doing a bit of dealing on the side. They've got kids in cages, Coulson. They're loading them onto a truck as we speak. In 40 they'll be gone."

There was a long, pained silence on the other end of the radio, nothing but a long drone of static rolling over itself. In that silence, June shifted her position once more to peer down through the underbrush at the dark form of the facility lying in a valley below them, tracking the movements of the armed guards who were patrolling along the 6 foot brick wall perimeter with the scope mounted on her M16, watching anxiously the barely visible hood of a large freight truck that was backed into the warehouse of the building.

"Get to the extraction point," came Coulson's answer, though his voice was oddly strained.

"Have you ordered a rescue Op?" Clint asked, neither him nor June willing to shift till they had affirmation that something would be done for the situation at hand.

Another long silence.

"I'll see what I can do. Get to the extraction point."

"Coulson. _Have you ordered a rescue Op_?"

The man on the other end sighed, defeated. "Clint…..You know that I cant. A situation like this? You and June aren't even supposed to be there. If word got out that SHIELD was directly involved in an Op like this…..We'd never see the end of it. You knew the risks when we sent you in there. SHIELD would immediately disavow all knowledge of your actions if you got caught or killed. Two rogue agents working their own angles, that we can play. But a full on strike team to rescue a bunch of kids? If things go south, Clint….."

June was staring at him again, and Clint knew he was speaking her mind as well as his own. "So you're just going to _leave_ them there?!"

"There's nothing we can do, Clint. Let local authorities handle things."

June drew in a sharp breath through her nose, inwardly fuming at the injustice of it all, her eyes flashing.

"Coulson, you know as well as I do that once those kids get on that truck they're gone forever," Clint shot back. "If local hasn't found them by now, they never will. We're these kid's last chance!"

Coulson sighed once more. "There's nothing we can do, Clint," he repeated. "I'm sorry. I bleed over this same as you."

"No, I don't think you do!"

"Clint…."

"I'm not just gonna leave them behind! I cant! In less than an hour these kids are gonna be forced into a life of sex slaves, or worse."

"Clint, think about it. A little flash drive, no one's gonna miss, but a bunch of kids? You'll have the whole damn posse on your ass while you're giving piggyback rides. Think about June, Clint. You really want to drag her into this? You know the outcome that everyone returns alive is nearly nonexistent. Not in these situations…."

This made Clint pause, as Coulson knew it would, continuing on and taking advantage of the silence. "You got the flash drive. Your mission is complete. You said yourself, no one's none the wiser. Go to the extraction point. We'll have you and June back on your island within eight hours. Think about June, Clint….Don't drag her into this….."

Clint's jaw twitched, caught between a rock and hard place, glancing over at June once more who was staring at him with such an intensity, and fierce determination burning in her eyes that he could have mistaken her for some battle crazed Guerilla union soldier. Before he even had a chance to decide upon his answer, she reached over and snatched the radio away, saying sharply into it: "Better prep the Quinjet for eight more".

The signal was cut off before Coulson could reply.

"There's nothing _they_ can do," June said in a level tone that Clint recognized as only the calm before the storm, "but you and I, we're not even supposed to be here. And those kids? They're _certainly_ not supposed to be here. We're getting them out, Clint," fiercely, as she handed him back the radio.

He met her eyes, feeling some of her spirit and determination leach into his own soul as he took back the radio, a stiff, determined smile crossing his features that spelled death for his enemies. "Yes, we are."

* * *

"Clear."

Two twin shadows flitted across the short stretch of grassland between the tree line and stone wall around the perimeter, pausing as one boosted the other up to the top, only to be hoisted up beside it's partner. Half a second later, and both shadows had melted into the pool of darkness below on the other side of the wall.

Two armed guards, pacing down their dimly lit path and conversing in low tones to each other, cigarettes dangling from their lips with hands positioned carelessly on their assault rifles, were suddenly snagged from behind by a strikingly similar pair of shadows, leaping out from their realm of night. One snapped neck. One crushed larynx. The twin shadows dragged their newest victims back with them into the blackness where they were swallowed up. No sound. No blood. No signs of a struggle. One second they were there, and the next they weren't.

A little farther down the road, another three guards were stationed before a large metal door, accessible only by swipe card. These three were silent and attentive, tensing with fingers on triggers and peering into the night, though blinded by the pool of lamplight around them, as a muted _snick_ was heard.

Half a second later and an arrow whizzed out of the shadows to imbed itself in the left guard's throat, a silver dagger impaling the right guard in the neck at the same time, and both arrow and blade striking the same point in the center guard's heart—all three toppling over lifeless at the same time with a muted gurgle.

Once more the two shadows snaked forward out of their cover and into the lamplight, grabbing their victim's feet and dragging them back with them into the night, whereupon they retrieved their weapons from their dead victims and restored them to their rightful sheaths.

"Swipe card." June demanded in a low whisper to Clint, who deftly unclipped the card from one of the guards' belt and tossed it to her, taking up his station before the door with a notched arrow on his bowstring.

"Ready?" she asked, with the card positioned over the slot and standing a little off to the side so Clint would have a clear shot at anyone who had the misfortune to be standing on the other side. He gave a short nod, and she quickly swiped the card down the slot, falling into step behind him as the metal door slid open with her silenced Beretta 19 held at the ready, her louder M16 slung over her shoulder.

As the hallway within became visible, Clint's bowstring went taut, a slight rasp sounding as the arrow was drawn back over the mount, muscles flexing before the release. On the other end of the hallway, there was a startled gasp from a guard as Clint and June presented themselves, gathering breath for a shout of alarm he never got the chance to release, toppling backwards after Clint's arrow seemed to grow from his chest. Before the body even hit the ground another arrow was notched in it's brother's place, it too swiftly being drawn back across the mount before flying straight and true through the throat of a second guard who rushed around the corner.

As every second passed, and two more men dropped to join their comrades in hell, Clint and June steadily progressed down the hallway, Clint keeping June safely behind him, while she trusted in her Hawk's abilities and acted as his second pair of eyes, not wanting to alert the facility with the sound of her gun firing.

Two quick taps on Clint's right shoulder from June warned him of the incoming danger from that side, and even while the fourth's dead body was just hitting the polished linoleum, Clint swiftly turned, smoothly notching and drawing another arrow as he did so, to face a fifth guard who had his rifle raised and finger on the trigger.

Yet Clint was a half second faster.

In the silence that followed, June swiftly moved forward to grab the feet of a nearby fallen guard and hide his body away like all the others, but Clint grabbed her arm as she passed, drawing her down the opposite corridor with a: "We don't have time for that, June. That truck will be leaving in less than half an hour."

"Clint, somebody's bound to walk down here and see the bodies," she countered in an urgent whisper.

"I know," he nodded, going up on tiptoe to remove the cover of a ventilation shaft. "We just have to get to the kids before they do."

June set her mouth in a hard line, not happy about it, but knowing that time was of the essence. Linking her fingers, she offered him a foothold, boosting him up to the ventilation shaft whereupon he bent back down to pull her up after him, closing the grate behind them.

Wide, fearful eyes. Trembling, open mouths. Dirty, tear-stained cheeks. Cuts and bruises on small limbs. That was what June and Clint saw below them through the grate, their heads pressed together.

Kids in cages.

Clint's jaw clenched, one arm snaking about June as she drew in a sharp breath, his other hand balling up into a fist.

"Let me go first," she whispered, with a determined spark in her eye, still fixed on the inhumane sight below her. "At this point I think it would be better if they saw a woman."

Clint nodded in agreement. "I'll watch your back till they're ready." And he dragged his gaze away from the children huddled on the floor to watch the outside loading dock through the window in the door—where the occasional sounds of activity was heard outside as the men were obviously preparing and loading a large freight truck with product, the children soon to be the next installment.

Carefully removing the grate, June eased herself down over the opening before dropping silently like a cat into the room below. Immediately, her sudden entrance garnered several frightened shrieks and gasps from the small children, who instinctively drew back from the bars and all huddled together.

"Hey, hey, it's okay…." she soothed in French, a tongue she knew most of them would understand, it being one of the chief languages in the area, her hands up in a nonthreatening manner. "Shhh. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to get you out, okay?"

The children blinked up at her, fearful, yet beginning to hope. June smiled encouragingly, slowly coming forward to crouch down before one of the cages, continuing on in the same soothing whisper. "It's okay. I'm here to get you out. I just need you to be quiet for me, alright?"

Slowly around the room, unkempt little heads began to nod, eyes wide.

She smiled again. "Good. Do you all remember the Avengers? When they saved us from the aliens and all the scary robots?"

Again, little heads nodded, this time more fervently.

"Yeah?" June continued, inspecting the first lock for a moment before drawing out a hairpin and beginning to pick it. "Well I kinda work for them. Do you remember the Avenger Hawkeye? The one with the bow and arrows?"

A chorus of whispered affirmation greeted her question, the possibility of freedom working up an excitement within the little children.

June glanced up briefly from her work to flash them another smile. "Well he's my husband. Would you like to see him?"

Once more the nodding heads, and Clint, hearing his summons, dropped down from the vent to the floor, drawing gasps from the children though this time the fear was gone. Giving them all an encouraging smile like June had, Clint moved forward to crouch beside the second cage, accepting a hairpin from June and beginning to pick the lock on that one. "We're gonna get you all home, okay?" he promised to the eager faces pressed up against the bars, glancing up occasionally from his work towards the door.

With an audible _click_ , June cracked the first lock and the door sprang open, a tiny flood of four children instantly washing out and over her, causing her to stumble back a bit as they all clung to her, murmuring their "thank you's" over and over again. June smiled sadly, wrapping all four up in her arms and holding them close for one second, her eyes meeting Clint's over the tops of their heads as they were both again stuck with the awfulness of the situation—both silently promising retribution on those responsible.

A few seconds later, Clint's also sprang free, and in no time both he and June were mobbed by eight children, some of them crying just for the sheer emotional stress of it all, some of them showing bright excited faces, and all of them clinging to the two assassins, thankful, desperate and helpless.

"Alright, here's how we're gonna do this: you, and you, are gonna ride on our backs, okay?" Clint whispered, selecting out the two smallest from the group, stooping so that the pudgy little girl who was no more than a toddler could climb onto his back, glancing over as a little boy did the same with June. "The rest of you I want to line up in two groups of three. You, hang on to the back of my belt like this, and then you three hold onto each other's hands. Don't let go, okay?"

"Don't let go," June repeated in a murmur to her little group, as they also formed up in a line behind her, one clinging to the back of her belt and the other two linking onto the chain, clutching each other's hands.

"Alright…" Clint murmured distractedly, checking the formation before looking over at June who met his eyes. They would never admit it aloud, but they could see it in each other's eyes.

They were about to lead eight small children into what was doomed to become a battle-zone. Was it their choice to make? Free them from one hopeless situation only to drag them into another that would certainly induce trauma, and more than possibly death? The chances of any one of them surviving were slim. The chances of all returning? Next to none. Could Coulson have been right?

June reached a hand across to intertwine her fingers with Clint's.

"Let's prove them wrong," she whispered, receiving a squeeze from him as he nodded, eyes still locked on hers.

And this time, it wasn't just about them.

* * *

The couldn't take the ventilation shafts. Someone was bound to stumble across the dead guards both outside and along the first hallway, or to notice the empty and open cages. To take the vents would be to take too long. By the time they would reach the outside wall, it would be lined with men all ready and wiling to shoot them down. Provided they even got that far.

The only option was to run for it.

Slowly, painstakingly, Clint and June snuck their little troop down hallways, around guards and through rooms, each avoided confrontation seeming too good to be true, and each passing second in which the cry had not been raised seeming like a victory.

Until with one terrible, shrieking siren, it all went to hell.

"Clint! On your right!" June screamed, spraying bullets at a mass of guards who rushed around the corner, flinching as their returning fire peppered the walls and hallways about her, fragments of drywall and glass flying into her face.

Clint, hearing her warning over the sound of gunfire, turned to his right and fired an explosive arrow into the midst of the five more guards who came running around the opposite corridor.

"Okay! Go, go, go!" he shouted back, and both he and June turned and ran down the hallway that formed the spine of the T the hallways were formed after, rushing the eight children who were cowering beside the cover of the walls down and away from the men who were pursuing them, shielding them with their own bodies.

Both Clint and June had long since lost all sense of direction, merely trying to keep the children away from the guards and running in any direction that wasn't made inaccessible by a volley of bullets.

All semblance of order had been lost. Clint was running on his last arrows, and June had long since run out of bullets on all of her guns and was currently nearing the end of the clip on the assault rifle she had swiped off of a dead guard. There was blood on the butt of it, still slick. Whether it was his or hers, she didn't know.

By some miracle all of the children were still alive, though two of them had cuts from shards of glass and shrapnel, and one had been grazed in the arm by a stray bullet, now hastily bandaged up by a torn piece of Clint's uniform.

After several anxious minutes of running, Clint ushered them all into a dark closet of sorts, all of them breathless and gasping.

"I think I know where we are," June whispered, peering out from between the wooden slats on the door. "Its just down that corridor and then out the way we came…." she trailed off, not wanting to address the one inconsistency with their escape plan.

"June…." Clint began, stepping closer to her and dropping his voice to a low whisper so the children couldn't hear, his tone signaling that he was about to bring it to light. "You know we wont be able to get over that wall with all these kids…..We'll be shot down before two hit the ground."

June's eyes flicked up to his face. She knew it was true. She had reached the same conclusion when the siren first went off. They both had, really. And they both had prolonged the inevitable, holding out some hope that by some miracle the required action wouldn't have to be taken.

But no such miracle came.

"Clint…..No," she whispered, pleadingly, already one step ahead and predicting his next proposal.

"I'll distract the guards, while you get the kids out and to the extraction point." he continued, as if she hadn't said a word.

June's face turned desperate. "No. There's another way. There has to be."

He smiled sadly, reaching up a hand to tuck away a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You know there's no other way, June. It's you, me, the kids or all of us. I'd rather it be me."

She gripped his arms as if threatening to detain him by force, though he could see in her eyes that she knew it was their only option—the only way the children survived. "Clint….. _Please._ Don't do this…." It was all in her face and voice: desperately, brokenly pleading with him to not sacrifice himself, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Oh, June…." Clint sighed, feeling his own heart break within him as he cupped her face. "We have to save them," he whispered. "We have to bring them home."

Several rogue tears wet his hands and they met in an embrace, the kiss that followed being full of desperation and passion, a reminder of a thousand memories and a thousand promises; Clint's hands tangled in her hair, and June clinging to him. It was a kiss that stubbornly clung to hope, while secretly admitting that it could be the last.

The sound of guards shouting in the distance finally forced them to break apart, and Clint regretfully tore himself away from June, moving to the door and peering out through the slats.

"Don't stop for anything, June," he reminded, turning with his hand on the handle, a lump in his throat. "Get the kids to the extraction point."

The tears were now streaming freely down June's cheeks, but she nodded.

Clint took one last long look at her, as if committing every detail to memory, before turning the handle and running out into the hall towards the direction the sounds were coming from.

When the door closed, June sunk to the floor, her hand over her mouth.

* * *

 _20 minutes,_ Clint thought, as he raced down the hallway towards the shouting guards. _I just need to buy June 20 minutes to get over the wall.._ After that, she could get the kids into the tree cover and easily smuggle them away to safety.

20 minutes. 10 arrows. He could work with that.

As he neared the corner that divided him between the guards, Clint abruptly skidded to a halt on the linoleum, pressing his back to the wall as he slowly peered around the corner.

It was a group of seven men, all shouting at each other, in their radios and running swiftly down the hallway towards him.

Pulling back around the corner, Clint switched the heads on his arrows, selecting one with a controlled explosive and notching it to his bowstring. He needed something that would definitely grab their attention and eliminate as many threats as possible against June, but not _all_ of them as he needed enough alive to create the necessary radio chatter to put him on the map.

Once more swiveling around the corner, Clint aimed carefully before releasing his arrow to explode a couple feet before the first rank of guards, killing the front four instantly while the back three got nice and toasty. He waited a second for the blossoms of light to fade from their eyes, before darting out of his cover and bolting down the hallway opposite of him, allowing himself a grim smile of satisfaction as the three instantly rose up in pursuit, shrieking into their radios for their comrades to come and help.

18 minutes. 9 arrows.

It wasn't long before Clint found himself dancing to avoid the bullets, a trail following his flight and tearing apart the walls a split second behind him. He had skidded around the next corner just in the nick of time, a bullet coming so close it tore through his uniform.

Up ahead, he could hear the approaching commotion of reinforcements. Out with the old and in with the new, right?

Once more he slid to a sudden stop and pressed his back against the wall, listening to the slap of boots on the tile swiftly approaching before timing it just right. Stepping out right as the first rounded the corner, Clint planted one foot forward while leaning in with his shoulder, launching the guy straight up and over his shoulder to land hard on his back on the floor, his head hitting the linoleum with an audible _crack._

The second put up a valiant effort to slow his momentum, skidding and sliding, but without wasting a second Clint used his planted foot to take off towards him like a sprinter off the dock. He reached him in a stride, hands latching onto his assault rifle and snapping the butt up into his face, stunning him, before twisting around to his back with it still in his hands, the strap about his body wrapping around the guard's neck, choking him. With one more sharp twist, Clint snapped his neck, using the assault rifle still in his hands and attached to the guard's dead body to shoot down the remaining man, his rifle nearly beating Clint to it.

13 minutes.

The sound of gunfire had hardly died away before eight men came rushing around the corner, all stopping at the sight of Clint and raising their rifles. Instinctually Clint raised his bow, an arrow already in place and soon in flight. Upon impaling the front guard, an electric charge was sent out through a device near the fletching, electrocuting the front line of eight men who collapsed to the floor twitching and writhing. The back four, hesitated only an instant before opening fire on Clint, who took advantage of every millisecond by turning to run back into the corridor he had just come out from.

Like the time before, a hail of bullets followed his flight, pausing mercifully when he rounded the corner, but only for him to be surprised by six more guards running towards him at the end of that hall, already planting their feet and raising their Heckler and Koch MP5K's. Capable weapons. A running man's worst nightmare. Thirty rounds firing out in less than two seconds. In Clint's case, mercifully inaccurate when not handled by a professional, but professional or not, with 180 rounds aimed at a soft target in a tight hallway, the odds are certainly not in your favor.

Without slowing his momentum a fraction, Clint altered course and barreled straight through a locked door with his shoulder, dislocating it painfully but saving his life as quite literally over a hundred bullets seared past the doorway a millisecond after he had disappeared through it, several of them unintentionally killing their comrades as the other four guards rounded the corner.

Unable to now operate his bow with his messed up shoulder, Clint quickly hurled an explosive tipped arrow like a dagger to impale in the wall before him, activating it and blowing a hole big enough for a man, diving through the smoke and still falling rubble to land in a roll on the outside grass.

10 minutes. 7 arrows.

Coughing and exhausted, his shoulder screaming in pain, Clint slowly rose to all fours, glancing back behind him through the smoke to see the guards, aided by reinforcements, entering the room and raising their rifles once more.

Time to move.

Forcing his limbs to move once more, Clint scrambled forward to take off at a run on the grass, slick with the night's dew. Behind him, more than a dozen guards poured out of his makeshift doorway, while before him another 20 or so flooded around the corner and formed a tight, practiced wall, blocking off any escape. Guns raised, though not yet firing, they slowly closed the circle.

Clint had seen it before. However called the shots around here had recently made an order that he was to be taken alive. Valuable Intel could be gained. A ransom could be negotiated. While Clint was satisfied in that it meant more time could be gained for June than if he was merely shot down in the instant, he certainly wasn't going to make it easy for them.

Two arrows, thrown in the same manner as before, stuck in the ground at the feet of both advancing fronts, exploding to kick up chucks of earth and sending men flying back, mangled flesh scattering with the clods of dirt. Still the line of men continued, a well aimed shot from a quick thinking guard's personal sidearm tearing a hole through the muscle of Clint's uninjured shoulder, another round imbedding in his thigh.

7 minutes. 5 arrows.

With a cry of pain, Clint stumbled, sinking momentarily to his knees, before he forced himself up again, ignoring the pain as he continued to use his injured arm to hurl arrows at his attackers, all out of tricks and down to simple broad-heads.

6 minutes. 1 arrow.

The circle had now closed. Clint's last remaining arrow was in his hand as he spun in circles, slashing savagely at the mass of limbs about him.

A kick landed on the bullet hole on his thigh, and with another hoarse cry of pain, Clint's legs gave way beneath him, signaling, as it seemed, a thousand other limbs and butts of guns to rain savage blows upon his body.

His single arrow, his last remaining weapon, snapped in his hands, and pain erupted from every inch of his body as the blows continued. Just 4 more minutes. He just had to last 4 more minutes. For June.

With a savage war cry, Clint fought like a madman from his position on the ground, kicking groins, snapping kneecaps, paralyzing men with blows to the solar plexus.

3 minutes.

A particularly hard kick from some nameless guard in the crowd hit Clint squarely in the face, his head snapping back while blood streamed from his nose, all but passing out. After that, the fight died out of him, curling up into a ball and trying to protect his head and vital organs as much as possible. And as the blows continued to rain down on his broken and unprotected body, Clint now hardly able to distinguish where they were landing his body was so numb with pain, his slowly counted down the seconds in his brain.

2 minutes.

1 minute.

20 minutes, gone and passed.

Through a crack in his arms over his head, Clint saw the raised butt of a gun, closing his eyes as it crashed down on his skull and everything faded into darkness.

For a long time after waking, Clint's world was pain. It consumed every inch of him, clouding his thoughts so that he couldn't even remember the reason why.

Slowly, agonizingly, it came back to him, and a deep groan escaped his lips.

"Glad to see you are awake. I was beginning to fear my men might have put you in a coma."

He wasn't alone.

It was a male voice. Heavily accented, though the words were spoken in English. Clint didn't think he could handle deciphering another language right now.

It took an effort, but eventually Clint opened his eyes, blinking until he focused dimly on the face of a man sitting cross-legged on a chair directly opposite of him. Fingers interlocked and positioned behind his knees. A uniform obviously declaring that of a high ranking officer. A thick, dark yet tidy beard underneath a pair of hard-set eyes. He was smiling.

Before his host could speak again, Clint took the time for his eyes to wander about the rest of the room they were in, and his current situation.

No. Room was not the right word. Dirty, dank cell was what Clint had in mind. The thick steel walls were covered in mold. The door frescoed in locks and made of the same solid material. Clint himself was currently hanging by a chain about his wrists attached to a hook on the ceiling. His feet were about half an inch off the ground, while below them lay a thick grate, deep dark blackness beneath with the air of something foul.

His first thought was a convenient body disposal.

"You've been very naughty today," his host continued, deep, soul-searching black eyes fixed on his face. "Imagine my surprise to have my facility raided not once, but twice in the same night. And by the infamous Hawkeye no less."

He knew who he was.

While Clint felt no surprise, he did feel a morbid sense of satisfaction that at least _someone_ recognized him as an Avenger. Even if that someone was a twisted child sex trafficker who was most likely going to kill him.

"SHIELD has a nasty habit of sticking its nose into other people's business. Still…." Clint's captor rose, stepping closer to him with his hands clasped behind his back. "They were very kind to give me one of their top operatives."

His face neared Clint's, his breath, Clint noted, smelling strangely of cleaning supplies. Like he had, instead of spraying the solvent on some countertop, put a few sprits inside his mouth like some breath freshener.

"Give me the SHIELD Level Nine access code," Comet Breath ordered, his tone commanding that of one used to being obeyed.

Clint merely stared back at him.

Comet Breath smiled again, once more pacing away to the opposite wall, his back to Clint this time. "It was a daring move you pulled back there: sacrificing yourself so that your partner could escape….." The man turned, once more fixing Clint in that piercing stare. "What a shame it was all in vain."

Clint tensed. He couldn't help it.

June didn't get out? What happened? Was she alright? The inner turmoil was instantaneous, but after the first initial flicker in his eyes, Clint didn't let it show on his face. He kept silent.

"One of the children got shot," his captor continued, almost as if he was sorry of the fact, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. "Your partner stopped to help. She was shot down, along with every one of the other children."

A bottomless chasm seemed to have opened up beneath all of Clint's internal organs, and his mouth went inexplicable dry.

It was plausible. It was more than plausible. One of those small, slow eight easy little targets getting hit by the men lining the walls? Of course June wouldn't leave one behind. Neither of them would be physically able to.

And then she would be a large, stationary, very easy target, slowed down by seven other children.

"You're lying," Clint croaked, his voice cracked and strained from the beating he had received and the dread he felt.

Comet Breath smiled again, sinister, internally laughing at Clint. He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to land on the grate by Clint's feet.

It was June's guerilla warfare cap she had pilfered off the shelves back at SHIELD when they were suiting up. It had been a joke between them then. His little army-less soldier. He had liked that cap on her.

It was covered in blood.

June's blood.


	14. Rehabilitation

**This story was a lot of fun to write. Please review.**

"…serious… no moisture… risk of infection…"

June drummed her heels against the examination table, staring up at the ceiling. Some of the cracks looked like shapes. She counted a duck, five faces and a hand. It was like hers, only it wasn't broken. Hers was very broken. Humming under her breath, she tried drumming out a few Russian swears. Fun!

Nearby, Clint was listening to the doctor's instructions. An increasingly worrying expression taking residence on his face as he glanced back at June every once in awhile. The morphine was still making her loopy.

"Just keep it dry. Bring her back in a week and I'll replace the stitches." The doctor jotted another note down in June's file. "It might take another hour for the drug to work its way out of her system. When it does, you can give her a dose of this." He handed Clint a bottle of heavy-grade pain relievers.

"Joy." Clint rattled the bottle experimentally. There was at least a few days' dosage in there. Not that she'd want to take it. "C'mon, Junebug, time to go home."

Grinning, June jumped off the table. Momentum drove her into Clint's waiting arms. Gravity was such a pain when her legs refused to work properly.

* * *

"I need a shower."

They were barely home five seconds and already she wanted to pursue one of the biggest items on the NO list.

Clint rubbed his face. This was going to be a long week. "June, you can't get the stitches wet."

"I can do it onehanded!" To make her point, she wiggled her good hand.

"Yeah no. You're not that ambidextrous."

At the time it had been heroic—she'd seen the knife coming straight for Clint and of course she'd reached out to block it. Then her hand slipped and the projectile had sliced halfway through her all-purpose right hand. The only good part about that was Clint hadn't been hit. Stupid knife. Stupid ninja throwing the knife.

"I've got dead man blood all over me."

"I'll help you take care of that." Clint moved past her to set the bottle on the counter. "We can—HEY!" He spun around in astonishment to see June tripping over the pants that were tangled around her ankles. "June, I told you that you can't—"

June stick out her tongue at him and threw her shirt in his face. By the time he tore it off his face, she was already streaking naked up the stairs.

"Forget the pain meds. He should've given her something to make the morphine wear off faster." Clint groaned aloud and tore up the stairs after her.

June leaned over the side, cupped her hand under the running water to test it. Free hand, yes. Not the one with the big bandage. It still felt numb. She put one foot in the tub, swaying back and forth on legs that still didn't want to fully cooperate.

Clint appeared at her side, a hand on her arm to steady her. "No getting the cast wet."

"No getting the cast wet," she repeated dutifully. She smiled evilly when he helped her sit down in the tub and she splashed water in his face. "But I can get _you_ wet."

* * *

Clint flumped backwards onto the bed, exhausted. The morphine was still going strong and he'd been on June Sitter Duty for more hours than he cared to admit. This might be an emergency room situation. She might've been playing on him too—toying with him every time he helped her undress, forcing him to feed her and wash her. Somehow she'd come to love the idea of a personal man slave.

"Cliiint." June sashayed into the room. Her lovely blonde hair was twisted into fat, fuzzy dreadlocks that cascaded down her back. "It's the new me!"

He really did scream then.

* * *

Clint started to wakefulness when someone nudged him.

"Hey" June ran her hand down his cheek, relief evident on her face. "You pulled through. Ready to go home, soldier?"

"Yeah. Home." He braced himself against the table he was on, grimacing when a sharp pain ran up his right arm. He glanced over to see the bandage and groaned inwardly.

June immediately wrapped an arm around his waist to support him and he glanced at her, a plan forming in his mind. He'd always wanted his own personal maid.


End file.
